


We Could Be Great

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Boat Sex, Dragons, F/M, Fantasy Sex, Female Jon Snow, Foreshadowing, Lovin', Male Daenerys Targaryen, Steamy, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-10-27 00:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17756390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Starts with a gender-reversed version of the boat sex scene from the TV series. Afterwards is a look at the court at Dragonstone and Great Hall at Winterfell with Daenerys and Jon gender reversed. Distantly related to my other series "A Chorus of Flame and Snow" but not necessarily the same because honestly, things will likely change by the time I get to this point in that long story. The genders and actions of some character will be different. Daenerys=Daeron and Jon=Jeyne. Just a look at them in the future just before the Long Night occurs in my version of Westeros.





	1. Chapter 1

She couldn’t say why she ventured to his cabin but she found she couldn’t help herself. It was a wonder he was even on the ship at all seeing as how he had other options. It gave her pause when she saw the iron engravings of his sigil on his cabin door. The three-headed Targaryen dragon. There was a time when that image caused turmoil and conflict within her. _When did that change, I wonder? When our alliance began? When I found he wasn’t his father? Perhaps it never changed and I’ve just lost my mind again. Gods, help me. I shouldn’t be here._

                Regardless, she gave several raps to his door. _I won’t knock again. I’ll give him a moment before I leave._ She was just about to do so but dismayed at hearing it open.

                Time seemed to slow as it did so. There he was; a tall, moderately muscular man of brilliance that took her breath away still. He wore a regal black surcoat flanked with red throughout and underneath, emblazoned with his red Targaryen dragon over his front, black satin leggings with similar gloves and steel clasped, black-dyed, high shadowskin boots. His long, Valyrian hair was half-braided and folded in the back; his torn left ear was displayed proudly and left uncovered. His violet eyes found her greys immediately and he seemed unsurprised as he held the door open.

                “Lady Jeyne …”

                She swallowed and dipped her head. “Your grace.”

                He watched her longer. He enjoyed watching her and took the opportunity to do so at that moment. Finally, he stepped aside. He knew she wanted to enter from her hesitation. Warily, she stepped inside and cleared the doorway. She turned to face him and found he was already staring back at her when she did so. He pushed the door closed and turned the key to lock it from the inside.

                “Seven, help us” said his Hand, Tyrion Lannister, whom stood at the steps leading down to his cabin. He had seen Lady Jeyne go inside. He hoped foolishly for no foul play but if so, he trusted his king would make the right decision. Not that his king had always listened to his better judgement.

 

                The king watched her still, waiting for her response. He reached down and began tugging off his gloves; he let the left drop to the floor.

                Jeyne swallowed. Her voice was low. “I just wanted to say that you did splendidly today. But it could’ve waited. I shouldn’t have come.”

                “But I’m glad that you did.” He dropped his other glove to the floor. His right hand reached out, adorned with rings on his fore and middle fingers that were high jewelry of Mereen and Yunkai.

                “What are you doing, your grace?” she asked, his hand in the corner of her eyes. He stroked her lower jaw before brushing her earlobe and settled on caressing the back of her neck beneath her hair. She gripped his wrist with her left hand, conflicted but allowed his caress.

                “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long. With mine own hand.” He drew closer.

                “The pact …” she whispered.

                He kissed her gently at first. Her lips drew with his and he saw her neck undulate to meet him, so he deepened his lock. Their mouths parted temporarily and both were near breathless. He rested his forehead on hers; she enjoyed the heat emanating from his skin already. Her eyes were open, stunned while his were closed.

                “ _Jeyne_ ” he whispered to her. “ _Please._ ”

                His want of her stole the rest of her inhibitions and all that was left was the hunger for him. She brought her lips into his the second time and even parted them with her tongue. Neither knew who guided whom to his bed first but before they realized it, they were on their sides still locked together. She quickly forced him onto his back and straddled his hips. She reached back and yanked off each of her long heels in turn as Daeron sat up and lovingly kissed her temple and the space beside her eye. She untied the laces to both her dress and underdress between her shoulder blades beneath her long, oiled hair. She pulled the dresses down to her hips and no lower because she was seated. He immediately pulled down the cups of her winter rose-colored blue brassiere, freeing her sizeable breasts of their confines. He sucked her right breast into his mouth, nipple and more. She moaned at his sudden attention. He palmed the left, kneading it shortly before tracing his fingers along the crossed scar over her heart.

                He released her right teat from his mouth and looked up at her. “The next time I ask about this scar, I will have the truth of it. Do I have your word?”

                She didn’t answer immediately so he gave a light bite to her right nipple. “Do I have your word?”

                “Gods, yes!” She pushed off of him and flopped on her side. She kicked her bare feet at him as well as the loose, lower half of her dresses. “Now, help me out of this!”

                He laughed at her and reached out to tug it off. “Silly northerner.”

                With both of their efforts, they freed her of the dresses and he flung them to the ground at the foot of the bed. She pulled the brassiere over her head and tugged her smallpants and stockings down her legs, exposing her sex. He looked at her inner thighs briefly before he started for her. She pushed him lightly beneath the throat to hold him at bay and gave a few soft tugs at the neckline of his surcoat.

                He smiled and took her meaning. She reclined on her side, watching him as he moved from her and sat on the edge of the bed. Facing away, he unbuckled and tugged loose his boots and dropped them to the floor with a thud. He then untied his sash belt and surcoat, removing them both and dumping them on the floor. He pulled his black undershirt over his head, exposing his well-muscled and scarred back. She had seen it before from afar but never up close like that. Large, dark welts and gashes from his shoulder blades to his lower back. He paused upon realizing that he exposed himself to her, worried at how she would respond. She was already on her knees, crawling for him.

                He flinched when he felt her cold hands on his shoulders. The two of them had risen high but both were damaged creatures who unbeknownst to the other, shouldn’t have been there for more reasons than the apparent. Her breasts squashed between his shoulder blades as she leaned up and kissed his left ear. She then crouched down and rubbed the upper region of his scar tissue. It had grown coarse yet strangely giving like the softflesh of a dragon underbelly or neck. She leaned and planted a loving kiss to it. He turned on her suddenly, his eyes grown austere.

                “I’m sorry” she offered, taken aback.

                He pulled away slightly and yanked off his leggings. “Forget it.” He went to her and guided her to the center of the bed. She reached down between his legs and felt him; he was well hard for her. He lifted her right leg up and out of the way, forging his way and guiding himself into her folds.

 She yelped at his sudden entrance and clutched desperately at his back and his bed furs. It had been a while for her. Luckily, kissing him and anticipating their joining had made her wet enough for him. There was pain at first but her body quickly grew used to him and she began to attain pleasure from his violent thrusts. She cried out in tune to the tilt of his hips; he stayed close, panting into her ear. One of her hands clutched the back of his head, stroking his hair while her right leg clasped around his buttocks. She could only hold on for dear life and endure his power. His bed rocked back and forth, creaking beneath them. He didn’t last very long in truth. She hadn’t considered that he might finish in her until his hips began to smash into her in much shorter, quicker jabs. His whole body seemed to strain and his rippling muscles pressed into her. She could feel his warmth filling her in continuous, strong bursts; feel it pool inside her, competing with his softening member for space. She became aware that his chest lay softly against hers and that she could feel his heartbeat; she quite liked that his was almost in sequence with hers.

He placed his palms flat on the bed on either side of her and elevated himself. They both wore coats of light perspiration and heaving chests due to the exertion. They both studied the face and the eyes of the other, trying to read what the other was thinking and feeling. She noticed that strands of his hair had come loose and were obstructing her view of his eyes so she reached up to attend to them. He swatted her hand away and pulled himself free of her. He moved to the far left corner by the foot of the bed, lowering his head into his hands.

She sat up on her tailbone against the pillows, flexing her toes. She was disheartened. Ever since a knowledgeable age, she had vowed to never be seeded with a bastard. She then found herself with the chance of having a king’s natural child. What surprised her was that she wasn’t as upset about that as she ought to have been. She found that she was more disappointed in the fact that he immediately pulled away from her as soon as the deed was done as if he immediately regretted it. His rejection really hurt her she found.

She crawled to the side of the bed towards her small clothes, choosing to sacrifice her small pants for she would rather not have those on than be seen by anybody without her breasts supported. She settled back on the edge of the bed and swabbed herself with the article. She caught any running seed spilling out of her and reached inside to scoop out as much as she could.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t have done that” Jeyne said out loud while she worked. Daeron gave no answer, simply rubbing the crown of his head and keeping his head down.

When she was satisfied, she scooted down off of the bed and moved to gather her brassiere. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Your grace.”

“ _No_ ” he said, raising his head finally. “Come here, Jeyne.”

Reluctantly, she walked over to the front of him with her small clothes in hand. He looked up at her and she saw that his eyes were wet as he had been silently crying.

“Your grace …”

He reached out and pulled the smallclothes from her stunned fingertips, leaving them next to her dresses. He reached out to her, first caressing her slim hips on both sides. One hand slid around and rubbed her firm, strong back while the other snaked around and squeezed her left buttock. She sighed from his fondling.

“Stay with me.” he pleaded. “ _Please_.”

He looked up at her face, searching for an answer. She hesitated before closing her eyes and nodding.

He pulled her close and began to plant a number of kisses across her slim stomach. He admired her strong yet feminine form. He had never seen one quite like her though he had similar offerings. It was Jorah Mormont who told him women are built strong in the North. Jeyne was a fine example of that in his eyes. His hand shifted from her buttock, to down between her thighs and her sex. He simultaneously rubbed her folds and bud with increasing intensity and friction. She hugged his head tightly against her stomach, squirming against him as she felt close. Her moans and breathing quickly rose in tone and frequency until a peak.

“Oh, Gods! Fuck!” She screamed, accompanied by a single, sharp-pitched sigh from her throat.

Her legs began shaking somewhat and he held her by the hips to keep her from falling. He kissed her again on the navel.

“I want you again” he told her. “Lay down on your stomach.”

He allowed her to pass him where she crawled onto the bed. He followed her shortly afterwards, leaning over her.

“Don’t spill into me again” she requested, looking back over her shoulder. “Promise me you won’t.”

“I promise.”

He steadied himself to enter and prepared to bear down on her hips.

 

Later when they were both finally spent, he rested beneath the sheets alone with his right knee propped up. He stared up at the ceiling and ran his hands through his hair.

“At times like these” he murmured, “I usually call on a servant for water.”

Jeyne sat up and propped her elbows on the mattress. She was covered in his fur blanket, resting on the floor. “But you can’t” she said, “because they would see _us_. I understand. You’re an animal, by the by. I feel for whomever you marry.”

He looked at her. “Come up here.”

She shook her head.

“ _Lady Jeyne_.”

She shook her head again.

“You’re disobeying your king?”

“You’re not _my_ king. I know you’re playing sly. As soon as I go up there, you’ll jump me again.”

“So the wolf can’t run with the dragon. Good to know.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

They both erupted in laughter.

“Oh, I’m finished, I think” Daeron said when they died down.

“You think?”

“I’m done. Finished. Will you just come up here? You look so lonely down there.”

With a sigh, she bounded onto the bed in his fur. He grabbed her around the thigh and yanked her closer.

“I got my fur back!” he exclaimed. He ran his hands down her spine and bottom. He leaned over, kissing her neck.

“I knew it!” she shouted.

“Calm down, woman” he replied. “I just want to hold you. It’s just when I look at this form, those eyes, everything; I can’t resist.”

They faced each other on their sides beneath the furs and sheets. Their smiles eventually faded and they considered each other seriously for a moment.

“Daeron” she said finally, drawing his attention especially since it wasn’t often that she outright called him by his name. “How do we go back? How do we stand in your court at Dragonstone or in the halls of Winterfell and act like nothing’s changed?”

He looked down, away from her, thinking on it before looking back at her. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

She sighed in despair.

He reached out and caressed her face. “But I know _this_. I can’t give this up.”

Her eyes grew wide and she pulled her head away. “You can’t-“

“As of now, I’m unattached.”

“I will _not_ be a mistress!”

“You won’t! I’m not asking you to be!”

“So you want to see me in _secret_ for …”

“As long as I can.”

Jeyne sat up away from him. He leaned over and put a palm on her lower back and just rested it there.

Jeyne shook her head. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering it. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“I know.”

“Gods” she groaned, cursing herself. “I’m no better than my aunt Lyanna. An affair with a Targaryen.” She looked back at him. “This isn’t love, you know. I don’t know _what_ it is but it isn’t _that_.”

“Love … is a terrible thing” he mused out loud. “Maybe this is better.”

Jeyne slid back to the bed and Daeron readjusted to pull her into him so that his arms wrapped her from the rear. She placed her own arms over his while his face nestled in her neck.

“I’ll have to leave soon” she whispered. “Somebody will see.”

“Stay a bit longer” he told her. So she did.


	2. Meeting At Dragonstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeyne and Daeron's first meeting when she comes to treat with him on Dragonstone. It probably won't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a smart man and I'm impatient when it comes to stuff. I also write slow and this is fanfiction so whatever. This is basically the Jeyne and Daeron from 'A Chorus of Flame and Snow' meeting though it will probably change by the time I get to it. Oh well.

                 The Island Dragonstone was expansive; it was a craggy, dark island in Blackwater Bay lying under the shadow of a still-active though as of yet non-fatal volcano. Jeyne and her escort had visited multiple townships en route from the northern port. Despite the dreary skies, the smell of sulfur in the air that produced a common, dry cough among the people, occasional hiss of nearby geysers and roaring of dragons in the distance, the mood of the populace was consistently upbeat. It was a stark contrast to the constant tension that had arisen in her homelands. They spoke to the people in pubs, on farmlands, at fishing quays and at inns. There were a few naysayers but most welcomed the return of Targaryen. And she could see why. In his return, he had already returned prostitution to the island as well as religious freedom, a great relief to those who practiced the Faith of the Seven before King Stannis’ desecration of all but his red god. He had boosted the island’s economic standing by providing safer and quicker travel routes for trade to and from the island to the Free Cities and elsewhere. Jeyne could see that he was well-loved there. Some of the people even shared different shades of his purple eyes and fair hair. She was informed later that much of the people in fact had Targaryen descent. Generations of Targaryens had birthed here.

                On one of their excursions, Jeyne had stopped at one of the mines. There was much and more dragonglass. The island was practically rich with it. She was told it came straight from the volcano Dragonmont and was the very core of the island. Venyon was overexcited at the prospect of this but Jeyne calmed him. They would have to be patient. It would be undue to pillage the stuff from the miners without the king’s leave. Considering the fervor for him, they wouldn’t make it off the island.

                The castle Dragonstone was an awesome sight; High arranges of towers and a castle wrought in the shape of dragons. There were many statues among its structures; of dragons, wyverns, basilisks, giant hounds, griffins and many other legendary, dark creatures of the like.  A long bridge of stone extended the island to the fortress with several pillars sitting deep into the sea below. The waves washed so high that she wondered if one could be washed away in an especially strong storm. It was an intimidating sight. _Likely more intimidating to lay siege to_.

                Their horses reared up and neighed when a duo of dragons rose in flight and flapped away in the distance. Jeyne shifted her weight and patted her horse, nickering at him to calm him down. Her own heart had jumped at the sight of them and she didn’t know how she would react if they come towards her instead of away.

                “You’re on foot from here on anyway, my lady” one of their sentry escort said. “We’ll board these at the stable.”

                The Captain at the gate came to them from his post with two guards in tow. He wore an open hauberk over his armor yet no weapon. Each of his flanking guardsmen carried long axes and daggers other guardsmen nearby carried crossbows. Separated from them but on standby were two Dothraki warriors in bear skins sharing a laugh over skins of wine.

                “Who seeks audience in the court of Dragonstone?” he asked them.

                “I am Jeyne Stark of Winterfell” she introduced herself with a nod. She turned to her companions. “This is Lord Davos Seaworth of the Rainwood, Val of the Free Folk, Venyon Tice, Asha Greyjoy, and Toregg the Tall. All are sworn to House Stark. We have come to seek audience with King Daeron.”

                The captain’s pale eyes widened. Jeyne worried that he would react to the fact that she openly introduced Val as one of the Free Folk though she would balk at any other introduction.

                “Winterfell? Stark, you say? We have been waiting for you. Of course. You must come at once, my lady.”  

                They were led across the bridge and the waves did indeed lick halfway up the pillars on a relatively calm day. The sentries at the central keep, Stone Drum, raised the portcullis at the captain’s word. Jeyne peered up and saw the long banners of Targaryen, a three-headed red dragon on a black backdrop, fluttering in the wind. Curiously, the banners of Blackfyre, a three-headed _black_ dragon on a _red_ backdrop, were fluttering right beside it to its right. _Blackfyre? Why would he keep Blackfyre banners on his castle? They may share blood but they’re enemies._

                Constrasting the damp, cold air of Dragonstone’s land, the keep was warm and bright. Jeyne’s party was met by a dusky teenage girl in a windy, cloth-of-gold robe and silk slippers. She wore her dark, bunched hair in a golden bangle for a tie. She was flanked by several warriors of Dothraki, adorned themselves. She was well-protected by them as well as the Unsullied lining the halls all the way to the Great Hall.

                “This one is blessed to be named Missandei and honored to greet you, our friends of Winterfell.” She gave a modest bow at them. “I am the king’s herald and humble servant.”

                “ _This one_?” Jeyne could hear Asha mutter behind her. “What's this about, now?”

                Asha let out a low grunt when Val elbowed her in the side.

                “We are pleased to make your acquaintance, Missandei.” Jeyne answered. She introduced herself and her party to her as well.

                Missandei gave a small smile. “My apologies, but we were expecting Lady Sansa Stark at court. Is she perhaps trailing you by any chance? Has she sent you as an envoy?”

                “The Queen is not coming. She has sent me in her stead. I am her Hand so it is just the same.”

                Missandei’s smile faded somewhat. “The … _Queen_?”

                Jeyne nodded. “Yes.”

                Missandei paused. “Very well, our friends of Winterfell. Come.” She and the escort began to lead them.

                Jeyne moved to follow but Asha grabbed by her the elbow.

                “This was a mistake” she told her. “We should just gather all the dragonglass we can and make for the port. There must be someone we can buy from. Rainwood was a smuggler.”

                “Perhaps” Davos answered. “This may have been folly.”

                “It’s too late for that” Jeyne told her. “We’re here now.”

                “Is this what Ironborn are made of?” Val taunted, referring to Asha. “Toregg, are you sure you want this one?”

                “Quiet, you” Asha said to her. “I’m not keen on being a dragon’s meal. Are you?”

                “Enough” Jeyne told her. “We must appear a united front.”

                “She’s right” Davos added. “We have kept them waiting enough.”

                Missandei had indeed been waiting patiently on them but they quickly followed after her. Jeyne had never stepped inside the Red Keep but she imagined it didn’t compare to this hall that was over thirty feet high and so many yards long. All along its walls were chiseled depictions of ancient battles on dragonmount and others of strictly artistic value. There statues of dragons all along the walls and more banners of Targaryen and occasionally Blackfyre. When they came to the wide open room of the courtroom, guarded by three pairs of Unsullied, Dothraki and Andal guardsmen in helm and armor, Missandei came to a halt.

                “I must ask that you relinquish all weapons before approaching the king” Missandei said to them. “They will be returned to you at a later time.”

                “Absurd.” Asha said. “We come to you with peace and you treat us like assassins.”

                Jeyne turned on her. “Enough, Asha. You know you’d do the same.”

                Jeyne pulled out her dragonglass dagger, steel dagger, a dirk from an ankle hilt as well as her blade from the swordbelt under her coat. The others turned over their weapons as well to the Dothraki and soldiers that gathered them. Asha reluctantly handed over her daggers, carving knife and a short ax. Missandei then escorted them inside.

                The grand court had many pyres of fire lighting its hall as well as high chandeliers of candles a hundred feet in the air to light the otherwise dark stone in radiance. There were over a hundred in attendance but the massive hall more than accommodated their numbers.  There were adorned ladies and noblemen from the various crownlands areas as well as from across the narrow sea. There were singers with harps and lutes in hands. There were Dothraki men and women; Summer Islanders in their rainbow-colored robes and ebon skin; crones dressed in sparkling dresses of emerald green. Some smallfolk and miners from the Dragonstone lands waited in a crowd for their turn to glimpse their king. Like any court, it seemed the closer you looked to the throne the easier it was to tell who was of the king’s true inner circle and who was not.

                Close at hand were three Dothraki warriors whom looked more fearsome than most of the rest. One of them was much taller, broader and decidedly more handsome than the other two with an oiled braid so long he tied it over one shoulder and had the trappings of many bells that rung with the slightest movement. There was a silver-haired Valyrian with all the flourish of a pirate lord; he wore a feathered hat, silver-spurred boots, frills on the shirt under his cloth-of-gold vest and was adorned with many medallions and trinkets. He wore a close-cropped silver beard though he otherwise had the look of a young man. There was an old, helmless knight in shiny silver armor at the foot of the throne with long, silver hair that ran to his lower back and a beard half as long. Tall and resplendent, Jeyne thought he would be an ideal knight if he were only half his age. Near him was a handsome woman in a sashed green dress and sleeves with fair, greying hair that tied in a single braid that ran to her mid-back. There was a young, voluptuous woman of similar skin tone to Missandei with multiple knots in her dark, black hair. There was an Unsullied in full bronze armor with a spear in hand and a hilted broadsword at his side. He wore a half-helm with three vertical spikes running along its center. There was a tall, broad man with long, black hair with streaks of silver throughout. He wore plated, chainmail armor with a surcoat and cloak that bore the golden kraken of House Greyjoy. He wore a long ax slung on his back as well. His left arm was uncovered from the wrist down in a black coat of something like coal only it smoked whenever he moved it and constantly cracked only to seemingly reform itself.

                “That’s my uncle, Victarion” Asha whispered to Jeyne. “He went against me in the Kingsmoot. What is he doing here? And what _happened_ to him?”

                Beside her uncle Victarion was a red priest dressed in red and black robes with designs of flames on them. His skin was darker than the Summer Islanders and there were flame tattoos of red and orange on his face; he had long white hair and a beard that resembled the mane of white lion. Then there was a plump man in a sashed purple robe. He had a bald head that very much resembled an egg, a powdered face and blushed cheeks. King Daeron’s court was a bizzare and assorted one to say the least.

                His throne was not a traditional one but she supposed neither was the Iron Thone itself. His throne was high and stony in the shape of a dragon’s claw, seated on a rough, massive slab of obsidian itself. The man also on the slab, at the king’s side was somebody she recognized. The miniature man was Tyrion Lannister and he wore a dark tunic and matching pants with cloak. He was scarred in the face and missing half his nose but she recognized him otherwise. He seemed to be wearing a King’s Hand badge on his lapel that was similar to her own.

                The king himself was seated on the throne. He was as described; tall, lean but broad in the arms, shoulders and back like a warrior, had long braided hair of Valyrian silver-gold hair and light, purple eyes that seemed to shimmer brightly in the lit room. He wore a black surcoat and matching pants with a red cape and sash woven diagonally over his front baring his coat of arms. He wore a crown of Valyrian steel that bore the likenesses of three dragon heads on the front and carried embedded rubies on the band all the way around. It fit snuggly around the top of his scalp at the tip of his forehead.

                His current audience was with lords swearing their allegiance before him. It was a renewal of old ties.

                “My lords of Velaryon and Celtigar” Tyrion spoke to them. His voice boomed and echoed off the walls of the hall like a theater. He was just as loud as Jeyne remembered. “You say you have come to swear your allegiance before King Daeron. Are you prepared to fight a war in his name and to support his rightful claim to the Iron Throne and dominion over the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men?”

                Jeyne didn’t appreciate the ‘First Men’ part. There were two groups of men kneeled before the King and his court. They were somewhat separated into two groups. Some of them wore capes of white with crimson crabs strewn across them; the others wore sea green capes with silver seahorses displayed across them. She knew the Celtigars to be the crabs and the Velaryons seahorses but she hadn’t kept up with who had lordship over either anymore and she didn’t have the vantage point to see who they were.

                “Yes, my lord” came a weathered voice of an elderly-sounding man from one of the Celtigars. “I pledge the swords, banners and ships of Claw Isle to King Daeron’s glorious cause. I have waited long for you, your grace. We are both of old Valyrian blood. I will serve you loyally until my death!”

                “My lord” said a boyish voice from among the Velaryons. “There is Targaryen blood in every Velaryon. Just as there is Velaryon blood in every Targaryen. Your grace, we are one and the same. We are ever faithful to you. All that you ask of us is yours.”

                Daeron and Tyrion exchanged a look. The pirate lord Valyrian at their feet turned and kneeled towards the throne.

                “Your Grace. My king. May I have your leave to speak against these fairweather fools?”

                The men at arms of both houses began to curse at the pirate lord. Somebody called him a bastard.

                “Quiet, my lords!” called down Tyrion. “Lord Waters, speak your piece.”

                “Yes, my lord Tyrion, I thank you” Lord Waters went on and dipped his head. He removed his feathered hat, revealing a head of shining, wavy, silver-gold hair. He turned and addressed the court at large. “My lords and ladies, may I remind you that I supported King Daeron years ago when his grace was in dire straits in Meereen? I have been at King Daeron’s side offering sound counsel and ships. I championed his cause when most believed him deceased. Velaryon and Celtigar were avid supporters of the Usurper Stannis Baratheon and would still be so today if the pretender hadn’t suffered a crushing defeat at Winterfell!”

                This caused uproar in the court until Tyrion called order in the room. The three-spiked Unsullied began smashing the blunt end of his spear on the stone floor, causing it to ring out and silence the arguing.

                Celtigar spoke out. “Your grace. Your _Lord_ Waters is the bastard uncle to Monterys Velaryon. It’s plain that he means to gain off of Velaryon’s fall! He was Cersei Lannister’s paramour!”

                “Complete and utter lies!” shouted Lord Waters. “I am the only one of you truly loyal to King Daeron! All you have are words! I’ve proven it!”

                “My Lords!” Tyrion shouted over them. “This is not a trial! You have nothing to defend!”

                “Indeed” Daeron said, low but firm. He placed his hands on his throne and pushed himself to his feet. All went silent in the room. “Celtigar, Velaryon. You may all rise.”

                Slowly, they all did so. They were tense but in awe.

                “You have sworn your loyalty to me.” He addressed them. “And for that I am grateful. Words do mean much to me but actions are worth so much more. We are indeed of one blood. So I am prepared to offer the king’s peace under certain terms. Come speak to me before the night’s done and we will discuss it in private. Peace be unto to you, my lords Celtigar and Velaryon.”

                Lord Waters took his place again near the slab and the Velaryon and Celtigar parties moved towards the walls of the room after addressing the king in parting.

                Daeron looked out towards the back where Missandei stood with Jeyne’s party.

                “Little one, Missandei” he called out with a radiant smile. “Who have you brought before me _now_?”

                Missandei turned back to Jeyne. “Come with me now and kneel before the throne.”

                She brought them through the thicket on their way to the throne. Some of the royal guard called for people to make way for the herald.

                When they came before the throne and the throne’s inner circle they all went to one knee.

                Missandei called out, “Before the Throne of the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, The King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and The First Men, The Khal of the Great Grass Sea, The Stormborn, The Breaker of Chains, the Father of Dragons, The Unburnt, and The Prince That Was Promised I present Lady Jeyne Stark of Winterfell and her companions: Lord Davos Seaworth of the Rainwood, Lady Val of the Free Folk, Lady Asha Greyjoy, Ser Venyon Tice and Ser Toregg the Tall!”

                There was an uncomfortable silence in the room; Jeyne could only hear scattered coughs. With an exhaled breath, Daeron turned back and returned to his throne. Jeyne almost raised her head to look but knew that would have likely raised his scorn.

                Seated, he called out, “You may rise.”

                The group did so. He looked them over for a moment or two more, notably Jeyne.

                “You are not Sansa Stark” he noted.

                “No, your Grace, I am not” she agreed.

                “So, who are you supposed to be?” he asked.

                “If I may, your Grace” Tyrion broke in. “I made her acquaintance on the Wall. I know her. She’s Jeyne Snow. Lord Eddard Stark’s natural-born daughter.”

                Daeron looked to Jeyne. “Natural-born? Why do you call yourself Stark?”

                “Your Grace, I was legitimized.”

                “By whom? The False Queen Lannister?”

                “No, your Grace.” She swallowed. “By Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North.”

                There was a lot of murmuring in the court at that and even Tyrion closed his eyes and reclined his head. Jeyne saw anger flash across Daeron’s eyes before he craned his neck and flexed his hands, calming himself.

                “More pretenders” he said. “Miss Snow, what is the meaning of this? You have come far from the North. I understand that must have been a tiring journey. However, I expected to treat with Lady Sansa and I am sent _you_ instead. More than that, you tell me that you have crowned yourselves in the North. If I might digress, Miss Snow. I am an avid reader. History is a favorite topic of mine. I remember a tale that took place during the Conquest of my ancestor Aegon the First. There _was_ a King in the North. King Torrhen Stark, yes? He rebelled. At first. He had an army of thirty thousand men at his back. Aegon the Conqueror met him with an army of forty-five thousand and three dragons. Torrhen Stark bent the knee to House Targaryen. Do you deny it?”

                “I do not, your Grace.”

                “So, by rights, the North is mine.”

                “If your Grace will forgive me, you lost those rights when your House was defeated in Robert’s Rebellion.”

                There was more murmuring in the court. Daeron was seemingly stunned to silence and leaned back in his seat while Tyrion bent in to whisper in his ear.

                Victorian unsheathed his long ax and spoke to Jeyne. “You wench! You are speaking to the Prince Who Was Promised! Your Grace! Give me your leave and I will strike off her head!”

                “Settle yourself, Victarion!” Tyrion called down. “You are not the king’s justice.”

                “You’re right!” Victarion said with a snicker. “Better to see her burn!”

                “You couldn’t do either, nuncle!” Asha jeered at him. “That hand looks ready to fall off!”

                “I’ll use it to rip out your whore tongue!” he shot back.

                “A follower again, uncle?” she laughed. “You never did have the stuff to be king!”

                “You bitch!”

                Daeron smacked the edge of his seat with the flat of his palm. “Enough of this. Miss Snow, why did you come? To throw this all in my face? To provoke me? What if I were to ride for the North right now and take my lands by force? What would you say then?”

                “Your Grace, I did not come to make enemies. I come to you as Hand of the Queen, as good as the Queen herself. I’ve come to make peace. I plead with you. The Others. The White Walkers have returned from the Land of Always Winter. They are at The Wall.”

                Tyrion addressed her then. “Jeyne, do you truly expect us to believe that? The Others? That tale was told to me to keep me from prowling the kitchens at night when I was a child.”

                “And what would you know of it, little man?” Val was the one who spoke to him then. “You’ve never even stepped a foot beyond the Wall. What would you know what dwells there?”

                “And who are you?”

                “Val of the Free Folk.”

                “Free Folk? Don’t you mean _wildlings_?”

                “Call us what you will.”

                Tyrion turned to Jeyne then. “Jeyne, what have you done?”

                “Many things, my lord. Some things I am not proud of. One of the things I was proud of was letting them through the Wall.”

                “That was _you_?” somebody murmured aloud.

                “Yes, it was me!” she proclaimed.

                “Here we go” muttered Asha.

                “Yes, I allowed the Free Folk through the Wall!” Jeyne went on. “It was my _command_! I arranged it! I carried it out! Because they are not the true enemy! True darkness is coming! Your Grace, I have encountered and survived them before! They are beyond mortal men! And they mean to kill us all. Everybody they kill become wights who kill and make more wights. The cycle will never end until they have us all. They will start with the North and then they will march south until all is dead and theirs. You cannot kill them with conventional weapons. They have weaknesses. The dragonglass can kill them. We need your dragonglass.”

                “I think we’ve heard enough, Miss Snow” Daeron said. “I think its best that you return North before you anger me.”

                “Jeyne Stark!” she shouted. “My name is Jeyne Stark … your Grace!”

                Daeron waved it off, seemingly done with the whole thing. “As you wish.”  

                However, the whole time they had been conversing, the red priest had been whispering in Victarion’s ear. In turn, the two of them climbed the steps of the slab and began speaking in hushed tones to their king.

                Jeyne and the others were left to stand there.

                “What is happening?” asked Val.

                “I don’t know” answered Davos. “But I don’t like it much. That man is a red priest. Like Melisandre.”

                They moved away and Daeron spoke to the group again.

                “You have troubled my court and displeased me. Still, I mean to resolve this issue with my Northern borders amicably. You will do me the honor of resting in the Keep for the time being. Missandei and Jhiqui will find suitable chambers for you. We will speak again in the near future. Missandei, I am dismissing court.”

                Missandei cried out. “All Kneel for the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, The Khal of the Great Grass Sea, The Stormborn, The Breaker of Chains, The Father of Dragons, The Unburnt and The Prince That Was Promised!”

                Jeyne was stunned but managed to recover and kneel with all of the others. Daeron rose from his throne and stepped down from that and then the steps of the slab until he was on the stone floor like all the others.

                “All rise!” she called out again.

                He walked to the procession with his cape trailing behind him but stopped near Jeyne. It was then that she realized how handsome and youthful he was despite his size and allure. She realized that they were the same age or close enough in age to not matter.

                “Am I your prisoner, your Grace?” she asked with a dip of her head.

                “Not as of yet” he said to her with a smile. “We will speak again, Jeyne. You’d do well to have something better to say to me next time.”

                He left them while his inner circle from around his throne followed him through the crowd, save for Tyrion whom stood on the slab.

                Victarion cut his eyes and drew a line across his throat in Asha’s direction as he passed.

                Asha’s crept closer to Jeyne and whispered, “What did you just do?”

                “Nothing too bad, I hope.”

                Missandei and the voluptuous, dusky girl named Jhiqui approached the group.

                “Jeyne, if you’ll come with this one” Missandei said, “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

                “Jeyne!” Tyrion called down to her, drawing her attention. “Come find me at the kitchens in the Great Hall when you’ve been lodged. _We_ need to talk as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, Daeron's court are: Jhogo, Aggo and Rakharo (Rakharo's the big, handsome one), Aurane Waters the pirate lord, Ser Barristan Selmy's the old knight, Jorah's the woman in green, Jhiqui's the voluptuous dusky woman, Greyworm's the Unsullied, Victarion Greyjoy's obvious, Moqorro's the red priest (both of them from the books), and the last is Varys.


	3. The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place directly after the "Meeting at Dragonstone". Note that both take place well before that first chapter. A look at Daeron's council and a meeting between Jeyne and Tyrion.

                Missandei took Jeyne, Asha and Val to a grand, shared luxurious bedchamber in the higher levels of the Keep while Jhiqui led Toregg and Davos to the separated Windwyrm Tower. Jeyne saw it as a calculated move to separate them but she was none too worried about it. There were four grand-style beds that could sleep the three of them together comfortably without them even touching the other, each with canopies and curtains. The room had wardrobes of silk gowns, cloth robes, dresses, undergarments, sashes, belts, tunics and satin pants.

                “All this fine wear” Asha commented as she opened one of the wardrobes, “do they think us dainty court maids?”

                Val peered over her shoulder. “Well, you could pass for one. With your bust, these would fall right off of you.”

                Asha shoved her away with a glare. Only a moment later, she giggled and so did Val.

                Missandei turned to Jeyne. “Unsullied are in the halls ensuring your safety. There are serving girls at your call if you should require.”

                “That shouldn’t be necessary.”

                Val sat awkwardly on one of the beds, bouncing herself up and down on her bottom. “This bedding is too soft. And high off the ground.” She reached out and tugged on the curtains beside her. “Such gaudy things these kneelers have.”

                Jeyne returned her attention to Missandei. “Missandei, do I have free rein of the keep? Would I be able to make my way to the kitchens as Lord Tyrion said?”

                Missandei folded her hands and smiled gracefully. “Why, of course. As His Grace said, you are no prisoners here.”

                “Would you be able to … show me where that is?”

                “I can arrange an escort for you.”

                “That’ll do fine.”

               

                King Daeron’s council convened in the Chamber of the Painted Table near same table, the top floor of the Stone Drum even higher than the quarters provided for Jeyne, Asha and Val. It was the very same place Aegon the Conqueror had planned his initial invasion of Westeros. In truth, Daeron was not fond of the thing. It was another reminder of the very scheming nature of warfare and he always felt somewhat empty when he and his commanders made their mock strategies over it. The table was fifty feet in length and near twenty feet in width. They had to stand on the thing to use it properly; it was not a practical thing to use for a council meeting. No, they had placed another round stone table in the room as well with other amenities for that.

                Varys, Victarion Greyjoy, Jorah Mormont, Aurane Waters, and Ser Barristan Selmy comprised his council and had seats at the table, though they stood at their chairs for the moment. His Hand, also a member, had yet to appear. Greyworm and the Great Khal’s three bloodriders Rakharo, Aggo and Jhogo stood guard over the precedings and could provide a dissenting opinion if they wished (though this was frowned down upon by the others). King and Khal Daeron had his grand seat at the head of the table but he stood apart from the others with his back turned to them, pouring himself goblets of a shining gold vintage wine at the stand nearby, which he downed in silence.

                “Where is the Imp?” complained Lord Waters. “The night is cold and damp. I wish for bed.” He was right. Although the chamber was lit and warmed with dozens of braziers, the level was so high up that there was a tangible chill in the air that couldn’t be denied.

                Thunder rumbled loud at that height and was answered in turn by the roar of the dragon that was so near.

                “That was Doreon’s call” stated Jorah. “The storm will be especially bad tonight.”

                “Oh, yes” agreed Varys.

                “The Drowned God will have many ships and offerings this night” declared Victarion.

                “She always hated the rains” Daeron murmured over his shoulder before finishing his goblet and promptly pouring another. “But she must endure, like me.”

                Jorah looked over at her king with concern. “Your Grace, perhaps you’d like to take your seat while we wait for Lannister?”

                “I thank you for your concern. My friends, when Tyrion arrives you may begin without me seated. I’m fine right here.”

                Jorah sighed.

                They heard the chamber doors being opened and closed again followed by clumsy footsteps across the marble floor. They turned and waited for him to come into view.

                “You’re late” stated Victarion plainly at the sight of him.

                “I was not aware” Tyrion answered as he waddled towards them with his cape flowing behind him and his tome underarm. There was more booms of thunder that were answered by another call from Doreon. “She’s having a blast, I see.”

                He moved to his chair to the right of Daeron’s grand seat where his inkwell and quill were waiting for him. He turned his attention to his king. “Will His Grace be joining us?”

                Daeron didn’t answer; he only kept his crimson cape facing them and drank his wine.

                “Very well” Tyrion said and flung his tome on the table before he climbed into his chair and got comfortable. “You may be seated.”

                The council members all took their seats. He held his pair of spectacles a bit above the bridge of his nose and opened the tome to the current date. He unstopped his ink and dipped his quill before he called out the calendar year and day to mark their session.

                He paused before writing in the tome. “Before we begin, I would like to address the dragon in the room. Our northern guests; what exactly do we plan to do about them and their requests?”

                Victarion had just begun to speak when Daeron himself cut in and shut it down.

                “Address our agendas before, Tyrion” he said without facing them. “Save the North for last.”

                Jorah swallowed and folded her hands.

                “As you wish.” Tyrion answered. He pulled out the unsealed letter that he had kept in the tome. “We have received word from the Citadel regarding our request for a Grand Maester. They are sending a maester named _Furon_. He is young and not a Grand Maester, though they say he is very skilled in healing and war strategy. He has multiple links on his chain of iron, black iron, bronze and silver. He is en route by ship with an armed escort. We are to expect ravens telling of his progress. They will revisit the notion of sending a Grand Maester when we’ve taken the Iron Throne.”

                “May I see that letter?” asked Ser Barristan.

                Tyrion passed it along to him.

                “Those grey rats” cursed Victarion. “They vex us with this _young_ man. What is it they say? A warring maester? Are we supposed to be impressed by that?”

                “It’s clear they begrudge us for the death of Pylos” stated Jorah.

                “We’ve paid them handsomely for that” said Lord Waters. “And assured them that we will continue to do so. They spit on us.”

                Varys spoke his piece. “My lords, I think it is fair to say that they are being cautious. There is a war for the throne and however favorable our position may appear, they already risk much by sending a maester. We all know they risk angering King’s Landing.”

                “Is there anything your birds have found that we should know?” Jorah wished to know.

                “Lady Jorah, I assure you that when my birds have wrest anything that aids His Grace and his council, I will be forthcoming.”

                “Well” Tyrion wrote some shorthand notes on the matter, “what is to be our response to the Citadel _if_ we have a response?”

                “What is there to do?” asked Ser Barristan. “He is on his way and is of the Citadel. He is honor-bound to serve His Grace faithfully while he holds Dragonstone. So, he will and we should endow him with the proper respect his order deserves.”

                “I agree” said Jorah. “We may not like it but it is done. He has come to serve Dragonstone. If we have a grievance after he has come, we should address it then.”

                “I suppose it is done” sighed Lord Waters. “We shall see his worth when he arrives.”

                “Fine” said Victarion. “May the Drowned God take him before he arrives; I’d like to see what that school of soft bones say then!”

                “I am so glad to be seated with such wise lords and a brilliant lady” gushed Varys. “I also agree to wait and see.”

                Tyrion wrote of the matter before continuing to other matters such as taxes on various shipments to Dragonstone and the logistics of an evacuation of Dragonstone in case of Dragonmont’s eruption. Daeron stayed apart from them and allowed the council to make the decisions even when they came to the topic of various lords offering the hands of their daughters to the king in exchange for support. The Council deemed all of the proposals too costly and the prospects of land and even the ladies too low for their king. They had nothing to gain from marrying King Daeron to any of them. They were fighting a war and though they hadn’t been fielded yet, his marriage would have to be one of an equal or close to equal birth and advantage. His options were few.

                “Lord Connington and his Golden Company have asked us to join him in the field” Varys informed them. “He’s getting quite insistent and he demands that King Daeron wed the woman he calls Rhaenys Targaryen.”

                “Absurd” scoffed Jorah. “Everybody knows that Rhaenys was slain when King’s Landing was sacked.”

                “Aye” added Ser Barristan. “I saw it myself. She was stabbed so many times. That poor girl. Lord Connington dishonors himself and Prince Rhaegar’s memory by using her name.”

                “Another pretender to smash” said Victarion.

                “Not as simple as that” dissented Tyrion. “The Golden Company numbered ten thousand at first but they split their forces and acquired half of the Stormlands including Storm’s End and Blackhaven. Their numbers have swelled. They’re not sellswords anymore; they’re a proper army now.”

                “More than that” Varys chimed in. “It hasn’t come out yet but they have allied with Dorne.”

                Aurane groaned at that.

                “If this is true” Ser Barristan said, “Tyrell and Lannister are no longer our biggest threat. Even Aegon the Conqueror could not conquer Dorne.”

                “It has been curious that Prince Doran has not offered Princess Arianne’s hand in marriage to His Grace” Varys mused, “though my birds whisper that he intends to.”

                “What is he playing at?” asked Jorah. “That would conflict with Connington’s plan to wed us to his false dragon.”

                Varys smiled. “I am told Prince Doran is a most avid schemer.”

                “He must love cyvasse” commented Tyrion.

                “He’s a studious player.”

                “I must challenge him should we meet. Connington claims his Targaryen is the true heir of the Iron Throne since daughters come before uncles in the line of succession. His Grace would be her uncle so we would need her hand to solidify our claim.”

                “It is a lie” Jorah insisted.

                Tyrion looked back at Daeron. He thought he would have had something to add by then considering how much it concerned him. Still, Daeron didn’t interfere.

                “I know it is but let’s say hypothetically it isn’t. We would be in quite the spot. Connington doesn’t believe we will use the dragons on them if there is even a possibility that his Targaryen is really Rhaenys. How do we know if Dorne will stay allied if we marry to Connington’s army? The reverse if we marry to Dorne. Of course, that could all just be what Prince Doran wants us to think if he really is such a schemer. Then there’s the matter of the North.”

                “Finally” sighed Victarion. “I was _waiting_ to speak on this.”

                “We know you were” teased Tyrion. “The North is of course, the most vast of lands that is nearly the size of all the others put together and they have just reunited under the rule of the Starks. They are a threat that cannot be ignored.”

                “The wolves returned from the grave” sang Varys. “I wonder how our fair Lady Jorah feels of their return.”

                Jorah wrung her hands together. “Keep your foul whispers to yourself, Varys. My thoughts are mine own.”

                “No.” King Daeron came to the table at last and set his goblet down. “Your counsel is mine. I will hear you, Jorah. What do you make of the North’s defiance?”

                Jorah looked up at him. “Your Grace, we must go to the North. They do not understand your strength and wisdom. That only you are fit to rule and protect them.”

                “The Dark is coming” proclaimed Victarion. “Even the wolves see it. They will be the first to die and still they turn their nose up at His Grace. They were always stupid. Long before the boy king took Lord Ned’s head.”

                “That Snow is ridiculous and treasonous to call herself Hand” Aurane said pointedly. “She comes begging for dragonglass when she should be begging for your dragons and strength.”

                “As the Prince Who Was Promised, Your Grace is destined to destroy these ice demons of hers” Victarion went on. “If the North will not get behind us, we should smash them and save the realm ourselves. Your dragons will destroy the Great Other and give all that oppose us to the red god.”   

 

                Tyrion waddled frantically down the halls to his destination straight from the council meeting with his tome underhand and two Unsullied guards at his back. He shook his head. “Ridiculous.”

                Jeyne was waiting, seated by herself in the Feast Hall outside of the kitchens. She rose at his appearance and went to him.

                “Where have you been? I have been waiting over an hour!”

                “I appreciate your patience. My apologies, Jeyne. Are you hungry?” He turned to one of his guards. “Please tell Jono to steam some of his delicious stew in trenchers and have his serving girls bring it out for two with some shining gold wine and two goblets.”

                The guard left them and Tyrion gestured for Jeyne to sit with him at a nearby bench.

                “We don’t have time for this” Jeyne informed him. “The –“

                Tyrion raised a hand. “We will speak, of course. But I would rather hold off until the wine arrives. I refuse to speak terms with a sober mind.”

                It wasn’t long before the trenchers were brought before them. Often time, the stew was steamed over stale bread to make use of it before it was completely molded but this bread was fresh, crisp and seasoned with garlic butter and onions. The stew was steak, onions, leaks, carrots, potatoes and crab in a spicy gravy. She hated to admit that it had her mouth watering. He poured her some of the wine which was quite fine as well and was of the finest she tasted with a nice mixture of bitter and sweet flavors. She cracked a crab leg in her hands and silently sucked out the meat before wiping her hands on her towel.

                When they had eaten a portion of their stew and drunk some of their wine, Jeyne started. “Now, will you speak to me?”

                He sighed wearily.  “You have really done it now, Jeyne” he said, swirling the last bit of his current pour of wine in his goblet. “King Daeron is being advised to burn Winterfell to the ground and he is considering it.”

                “I must speak with him, Tyrion. He has our allegiance but the North must remain independent.”

                “Why? Why should the North be independent? All must serve a king. Why not him? Because he is Targaryen? He is not the Mad King. He wants to save you fools from your Others, if they exist. Let him.”

                “The North has been in turmoil for so long. We’ve torn at ourselves. Free Folk raided us. The traitorous Theon sacked Winterfell. Bolton threw down Stark. Yet we are whole again, without the help of anybody. We liberated ourselves. We will rule ourselves as our own kingdom. We have earned it. I am the Hand of Queen Sansa Stark.”

                Tyrion finished his goblet and poured another. “Yes, I suppose you are. However little good that will do you.”

                She considered her hands and ran her right hand over back of the left. “Hands are oft required to make decisions for their liege. In the best interest of their realm yet not necessarily their desires. Wouldn’t you agree?”

                “I do.”

                “We of the North are not the dull, isolated savages you think we are. I know of your … dilemma.”

                He was curious. “What would you know of it?”

                “I know that the Tyrells still fight a silent war with Cersei Lannister for the throne. And that His Grace has secretly aided Lannister but not out of anything as loyalty.”

                “My sister is a vain and oft-stupid woman and the throne is weaker with her on it. Weak enough to topple with little effort. Odd how you would know of that in the North.”

“I also know that The Golden Company has formed up around one called Rhaenys Targaryen and allied itself with Dorne. They are raring to make war with the throne and call for His Grace to honor Rhaenys’ succession. He would have to wed her to remain king or else kill her and be named kinslayer.”

Tyrion rubbed his chin. “Unless of course, this Rhaenys is false.”

Jeyne shrugged. “She must be Rhaenys Targaryen. Prince Doran is a cautious man who doesn’t act until the outcome is in his absolute favor. But even a cautious ruler will make questionable decisions when family is concerned. You could field an army of eighty thousand and much more from across the narrow sea. And three dragons. You are by far the greatest force in the world, let alone the Seven Kingdoms. He could only gain from supporting _you_. Yet, Dornish forces _are_ in the stormlands with the Golden Company. She is who they say she is, I assure you.”

Tyrion sighed and sat back in his chair. He glumly gulped his wine. “Yes, I thought as much myself. They’re ruining everything. You are a Hand. What would you do?”

She sipped her own wine. “As a northman, I say this is all folly. When the Others come, it doesn’t matter who sits the throne. We will all die.”

He pouted. “So dour, just like the other northmen. You remind me of Jorah.”

“As a _Hand_ , I can’t strictly think that way. I had hoped to get an audience with you. Rhaenys Targaryen and the Golden Company need King Daeron and you know they want the dragons’ power. Dorne will always remain attached to Rhaenys. They may act on King’s Landing but will slow their halt. They are waiting on you. Don’t go to them. Come to us. Betroth King Daeron to our Queen Sansa.”

Tyrion was honestly surprised at this. This woman kept catching him off guard. “Did you not know? _I_ am Sansa’s husband. Technically speaking, I am your King.”

“We do not recognize your marriage. It was unconsummated. Do you deny it?”

Tyrion laughed. “You northmen are getting too clever. Dangerous. We may have to kill you after all.”

“The validity of the marriage can be confirmed by the Faith after the War. It would be lawful in the North before the old gods. In any case, I am only speaking of betrothal. Rhaenys has a journeyed army far from their homes and no real foothold in her position that can compare to your dragons. She cannot win. She will not fight King Daeron. But we will. We have scorpions for your dragons as does the rest of the realm who built them when you came. I knelt to King Daeron because he is a king in this domain but he will never be King of the North. Her Grace will not kneel to him and neither will we. We will bleed you before you ever fight King’s Landing or Euron Greyjoy, whom some claim will return in force. The Others will take you all anyway and it would be better to die to you than to them. Take Her Grace as wife and King Daeron will have the strength to overtake all his enemies and Rhaenys if she should deny him. But he must fight the Others with us, first.”

“The dragonglass?”

“That can kill the Others and wights. But I have been in their presence. Even being near them is experiencing a winter that can freeze the sun. It … is unbearable. Dragonglass will not save us. Many will die regardless. The North will likely fall.”

She seemed near on the verge of tears and paused to regain her composure. “The others with me. Even Her Grace. They all think I came for dragonglass. But no, it was for this. If you come, the North will fight you from the Neck to the Wall. Every step of the way, even if you are on dragonback. But, we need your help. Marry Queen Sansa and fight with us. The only fight that matters. Please accept.”

Tyrion sighed and refilled her goblet. He then took entire the bottle of wine and began drinking from _that_. He considered her after that. He thought of his trip to the Wall six years earlier; of the girl Jeyne Snow, the eccentric, idealistic young girl. Her lord father had interred her there when his wife desired that she be away from Winterfell in his absence. He sent her to the Wall with four of his most trusted household guard and a young companion. The high steward's daughter was sent to the Wall with her instead of King's Landing. She was the archetypal young girl accustomed to ladyship and not suited for the Wall but she was there nonetheless. It had been years, however. How they could have developed in all that time was something he could not know just as he couldn't have known that Sansa would become queen. “I remember a girl from long ago that I met at the Wall. A bastard. Young. Fair but slightly unkempt. Bold but hopeful. Fierce but a bit too romantic. She had a fire in her eyes. A bit like yours. But not quite. You’re not Jeyne Snow. You’re the other one. The shy, girlish one. Jeyne … Poole, was it?”

Jeyne cut her eyes to the Unsullied guards at his back.

“They are mine. They know when to be quiet. Your ruse is still well. For now.”

Jeyne blinked and drained some of her wine to calm her nerves. “How long have you known?”

“It took me a while. I didn’t really know Jeyne Snow. I only made her acquaintance a short time. I liked her. I didn’t think much of you, however.”

She winced but let the insult slide.

“You seem much more practical than that frantic girl I met before but I suppose that could have been experience. It’s your appearance. Sometimes you resemble her but mostly you’re different. Are your eyes are … some odd shade? Sometimes, your hair appears lighter than the near-black it is now. And your eyes are brown but they seem to shift to … grey?”

“You’ve been staring at fire too often. My eyes are brown.” Melisandre’s glamor wasn’t working properly. She had her suspicions as to why but it made no difference. Who at Dragonstone’s court besides him had ever known the bastard Stark and her steward? She had only done it to fool the Hand but he didn’t seem to care.

“Why did you take her name?” he asked.

“My mother and father died long ago” she told him. “My cousins too. Poole is finished. And Jeyne Snow has been lost beyond the Wall for a while now.” She paused and drank some more after some hesitation. The thought of it pained her. “It’s likely the Others have her. She was my best friend. She taught me how to be strong and persevere. Almost everything I am today is because of her.”

She folded her hands. “The North and Dragonstone both wouldn’t have thought much of a daughter of a lowly extinct house but they allowed the name of Stark free rein all over the island and to the keep. And to you. Hopefully, to His Grace as well.”

“I see.”

“Nothing I’ve said changes. I’m still the Hand. Will you accept my proposal? Most of the realm would be yours with a marriage.”

Would he dare it? Betroth the king? Would he accept? What would Sansa say to him being involved in her marriage again? He actually considered it.

“I’m inclined in a certain direction but I must first deliberate with my king. He will want to meet you eventually. You’d better be more charming than you were with me.”

She nodded, digging into her stew again. “Jeyne Snow was the charming one.”

“On that, we agree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you are confused so I'll make it clear. The Jeyne in chapter 2 and 3 was Jeyne Poole acting in Jeyne Snow's name. Chapter 1 Jeyne was indeed my girl Jeyne Snow. The following chapters will close the gap and shed some light on her fate. TBH, I'm surprised nobody commented on Rhaenys and the fact that I made Daeron's dragons female. Oh well.
> 
> The next chapter is called "When Snow Meets Flame".


	4. When Snow Meets Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A closer look at King Daeron before he meets privately with Jeyne in his study.

                Purple eyes shot open and his stomach curled. He lurched and reached for the chamber pot at his bedside which he vomited into. He spit once but held on as he regurgitated another volley shortly after. He set it down and pushed it away from him; the boy and girl he had laid with the night prior were resting at his side, both naked and entangled in his sheets. One was a squire and the other a lady attendant to Jorah, some younger cousin from a noble house he hadn’t bothered to remember; they were each barely grown and had served their use to him eagerly. He shook them each gently in turn.

                “Leave me, the both of you.”

                “Yes, your Grace.”

                “Yes, your Grace.”

                He had been with each of them at least once before so they knew to be quiet. Besides, they knew there were benefits to having his favor just like all the others. When they had gone, he got up and threw on a robe. He dumped his chamber pot’s contents in the privy and had himself a piss. When his attendants arrived, he had them draw him a steaming hot bath where he scrubbed himself clean and oiled his hair. They prepared his oral paste which he used to scrub his teeth to a white sheen. He dressed in fine red wear and wore a black surcoat, pants and spurred boots as well. He had them part his hair and braid half of it down over the other. They then draped his Targaryen banner over his right shoulder and chest. They gave him choice of jewelry and he chose a single white-gold ring with a ruby gemstone on his left ring finger. He dismissed them after that and went to his nightstand to ready himself for the day. He thought of having a glass of his Dornish sour but thought twice of it. He uncorked it and drunk down a sixth of the bottle in short order.

                He went out into his hallway where every Unsullied there dipped their spears forward at his passing. His old friends, bloodriders and _kos_ were waiting for him, having jests at each other.

                He greeted them in Dothraki. “Blood of my Blood. The day is near. Our arakhs will be bloody again.”

                “As you say, my king and khal” answered Jhogo with crossed arms, “but tell me: must we fight alongside the pale hairs? They cry like women and bicker like slaves over a chicken bone.”

                “Yes” agreed Aggo. “He speaks truth. The eunuchs fight with fire but these other ones will hide behind us. I know it.”

                Daeron shook his head. “I should hope not. I hate cowardice. You know this of me.”

                “It is known” nodded Jhogo.

                “It is known” agreed Aggo.

                Daeron turned to Rakharo, whom hadn’t said anything at that point. He placed his hands on his shoulders, then reached up and lovingly cradled his head behind his ears in his hands, for Rakharo was near half a foot taller than even him. “We will go forth and sack more lands to the north, east and south. All will be ours. Then, I will find you the most beautiful woman to bear you strong children and make you smile again. You’ll see.”

                Rakharo looked him right in the eyes. “None would compare to Irri.”

                A wave of guilt washed over him again and he nodded solemnly. He patted him on the shoulders and turned away from him. They followed him close at heel down the halls. On the way he passed through crowds of many a highborn lord, lordling, knight and lady who stuck around his stronghold in hopes of gaining his favor and a place in his court. Some of them had come from King’s Landing and other lands in the crownlands as the war had turned against the Tyrell-Lannister armies; some of them had been displaced from the stormlands when the Golden Company came. Wherever they came from, there were too many of them for his fortress. They were filling up his towers just as the people were filling up his island. He would have to populate other nearby isles and establish lordships or send some of them with Celtigar and Velaryon. Or both. Or he would have to field his army to claim his rightful lands in the north, the stormlands and beyond. He would soon have no choice. He wouldn’t turn anybody away. The good left in him wouldn’t allow it. If he had to be king, he would be great. His Targaryen name had been tarnished far too many times; his throne would bring honor back to it.  

                “The King of Westeros passes!” Somebody in the hallway shouted who could have made a fine herald themselves. “Make way for the King!”

                The crowd slowly but surely parted way from them. He saw many that bowed and dipped their heads at him. He heard so many ‘Your Grace’ ‘s that he almost laughed out loud yet he kept his composure.

                Eventually, Tyrion appeared and called out to him as he dipped his head.

                “Good morning, your Grace.”

                “Good morning, Tyrion.” He and his bloodriders didn’t stop for the miniature Lannister and he had to nearly run to keep up.

                “Your Grace … could you perhaps halt for a moment. I … have things to discuss.”

                “No.” He kept right on at the same pace.

                “Very well! Celtigar wishes to discuss matters with you. He wishes to know how we plan to use him in the upcoming battles.”

                “I’ll call on Celtigar when I have need of him. He can leave Dragonstone when he wishes. Tell him that he is free to take any number of hedge and landed knights as well as squires and attendants in court that he desires. Tell the same to Velaryon.” Both houses had met with Daeron and Tyrion after the council meeting where five high hostages had been procured from each house including Celtigar’s youngest daughter and the Velaryon boy lord’s maiden cousin to whom he was actually betrothed.

                “Any number of them? Who would serve us wine and keep us company? The boring Unsullied or those dullard Dothraki?”

                He gave Rakharo and the others a look of apology. Rakharo curled his lip in a snarl.

                “We’ll pull from the villages” Daeron told him simply enough. “No more housing from off the island unless I consider them honored guests. Otherwise they can stay at inns.”

                “What of the northerners? Will you speak to Jeyne Snow today?”

                He said nothing.

                “Your Grace?”

                “No.”

                “What am I do with them?”

                “You’ll figure it out, I’m sure. They have free rein of the castle but they are not to leave the castle grounds. Do you understand?”

                “Yes, your Grace.”

                “Good. Now, leave me be.”

                Tyrion stopped following them and the four of them went on their way.

                Dragonstone housed a very considerable dungeon. Daeron had promised himself he would take no prisoners of war and he would keep that promise to himself. Yet, for a moment he had strongly considered adding Jeyne Snow and her northern friends to the cells and even to his few torturers and sorcerers. He kept mostly thieves, murderers and rapers down there. He knew a few choice words didn’t earn Jeyne a place there with that lot. Most of them would never again see the light of day and that was probably for the best. He still wished to bring the North under heel with little bloodshed for Jorah’s sake if nothing else. Though in all honesty, if he could avoid all war he would but he knew his khalasar starved for it. And the lords that had gone to his side wanted blood and lands as well. And the North, the Stormlands, Dorne, the Eyrie and the Crownlands continued to defy him. It didn’t matter what he wished; there would be war.

                The herder met him at the base of the Dragon Nest under the watchful eyes of spear-wielding guardsmen. He had pale, near silver eyes and muddy brown hair. Artun, he named himself after a bow. The cattle he kept roped at his side looked well-fed and strong. Daeron put five golden dragons in the man’s hand.

                “You have my thanks” Daeron said, clapping the man on the shoulder. “You have done a great thing for the throne, the island and the people of Dragonstone.”

                “Anything in service to my king.” The herder said, clutching the coinage and dipping his head. “She is strong but most gentle, my king. She will go easily enough.”

                Daeron nodded and guided her by rope to the winch. The platform would need to be operated by multiple men, the on-hand operators and his bloodriders, as the cow weighed near one hundred and fifty stone.

                They all worked together in tandem with a gear-pulley system to lift the cow to the top of his hollowed tower; a former home to batches of dragon eggs of ages past. Strands of his hair and the tail end of his banner flapped in the wind behind him; he could hear her snorts and agitated snarls as it rose higher and higher. She knew food was coming but it could have just as easily been for him. Even in her state, she always knew when he was near. He heard the chains rattle and strain; he suddenly wished for another cask of wine.

                When the lift reached its summit, he could hear the gaseous release of her flames. They all listened to the frantic rattle of her chains; the angered snarling and ripping as she tore at the cattle’s flesh with no patience. The heat was something that dampened their skin and heated them through their clothes as flames and smoke billowed outwards and upwards from certain sides of the tower. From the sounds of the rattling; she had to have broken free of some of her binds by then. It would be time to change them soon enough and for that he would need the toxin from his sorcerers. He kept an order of such men down in the dungeons, away from the eyes and questions of his people. He plied them with women, gold and whatever else they might require and they provided him with tools not available to any other man. There had already been deaths, even with their toxin, in attending to his daughter. He didn’t wish there to be any more but there was likely no other way.

                The first threat to him at Westeros had not been on rock as Tyrion had predicted but at sea as Victarion had warned. Euron Greyjoy’s fleet met him before Dragonstone. It was devastating circumstances; the Ironborn proved fierce and deadly warriors at sea and neither his Dothraki nor his Unsullied proved effective at such tactics at that time. He was forced to rely on Victarion’s command of his own fleet to oversee his side of battle and he didn’t completely trust Victarion at that point. While Victarion commanded his forces at sea, Daeron took to the skies with his daughters. He had become adept at riding all three and he was glad to have done so as they heeded his call without question. His terrors soared through the skies and seaspray and together they blazed through a dozen ships. Only Rhaellys received damage in their initial runs through the Iron Fleet but she tore out the spears from her own neck and belly with her own teeth.

                It all went to hells when the blasted man blew his giant horn. A grotesque sound that rattled his head and set deep hurt into his bones. Most men were hampered and disoriented at the call, unable to stand let alone fight for a while. Victarion told him of the horn before and he had attempted to locate and destroy it beforehand. Yet how was he to know where Euron had placed it in his fleet? _Silence_ , Euron’s pride, had been among the first to explode under Doreon’s flame. No, he had placed it elsewhere. Dragonbinder didn’t actually work as anybody anticipated, Euron included. It hadn’t binded his dragons to Euron’s will; it had stripped them from Daeron. And sanity.

                Rhaellys’ flight became erratic and she crashed down on a few ships. She rose again in agony and made for the nearest land, giving a haunting cry he never heard before or since. Visenyx tumbled into the sea in a ball of flame and nearly drowned. Any man who was in the water at that time within a large radius of her fall were boiled in their armor like lobster before supper. Dorean was the worst and of course she was, for she was the Black Dread come again and the most terrible of them all. She went on a rampage and tore through all ships in her immediate sight; friend and foe alike. Daeron screamed and called her name; he even whipped her. She would no longer respond to his call. In fact, in between flailing and tumbling around like a snake in panic, she tried to twist her head and bite at herself in her crazed attempts to get at _him_. He could still remember the heat of her flames as she tried in vain to blast flames over her own body against all logic to rid herself of him. He stabbed her scales multiple times with his Valyrian steel. When he dug up a single scale and the flesh underneath, it burned his hand through his glove. He waited until she was low enough to the water to dive into the ocean. He was fortunately away from Visenyx but he climbed onboard one of Euron’s ships that had been taken in the battle. Regretfully he had himself manned one of the half dozen scorpions it had taken to put Doreon into the water. His side had won the day but the cost had been steep.

                Eventually, Rhaellys and Visenyx returned to their senses but Doreon never did. He had her housed in the hollowed tower aptly named the Dragon’s Nest. It took much meat, Rhaellys and Visenyx both, as well as cauldrons of the sleeping toxin to bring her under heel but it had been done. The whole ordeal had left him hesitant to carry on his campaign so foolishly. What other tactics could be used to disable his dragons? And how courageous would it make his enemies if they knew he effectively wielded two of them, not three?

               

                When Queen Sansa had been assured without a doubt that her Hand and the only sister left to her had ventured with the band of one hundred to the Land of Always Winter, she was wroth. She locked herself in her chambers and left the matters of court to her gathered lords and ladies of Mormont, Umber, Thenn, Manderly, Norrey, Flint, Hull and Cerwyn. In truth, all they ever did was bicker; all it illustrated was that without the Starks leading them, the North was a large land of strangers without common cause. It must have looked ridiculous to the gathered lords, knights and ladies of the Vale as well as the red priestess Melisandre and her sworn knights, all of whom also regularly sat in attendance but largely declined to interfere.  Jeyne watched all of this in the Great Hall from her place on the dais, always wondering whether she could step in and guide them. She supposed guiding had become a strength of hers. She had done it on The Wall, with the Free Folk and the sisters Stark. Yet, the other houses wouldn’t heed her and she knew that. She was Lady Steward and Jeyne Stark’s attendant; not somebody to advise the Great Houses of the North to defend their lands from dragons and foreign invaders. Just the person who staffed the servants, saw that they were fed, warmed and entertained, boarded and cared for their horses and saw to their letters. The Queen had no maester as of yet so she filled that role as well though the Citadel would balk at such a notion.

                A young girl of House Manderly, the Queen’s cupbearer that Jeyne herself had selected, came to her and whispered in her ear.

                “Her Grace calls on you, my lady.” Jeyne looked upon her and saw a reflection of her younger self. She was paled and anxious. She hoped the Queen wasn’t taking out her frustrations on the poor girl.

                The girl lead her to the Queen’s solar, the chamber once occupied by Lord Ned Stark, Robb Stark after him, Bran Stark and lastly and regrettably, the Bastard of Bolton. Lord Petyr Baelish passed her on the steps to the chambers, adjusting his collar and wearing a self-satisfied grin. She stopped to consider him for a moment.

                “My lord” she said to him with a nod.

He ignored her and went on his way.

                “My lady?” Young Manderly called down to her. She waited on her to follow.

                “My apologies.”

Sansa was dressed in her gown and robes, staring from her window out towards the yards. Her auburn hair tumbled down her back, beautiful even in her unkempt state and in tangles. Her desk was littered with letters splattered with dried ink from an upturned inkwell. She wasn’t bothered with even pretending to be fit for the Hall.

                “Your Grace.” Her cupbearer curtsied. “I have brought Lady Poole.”

                “Leave us.”

                The girl went sheepishly from the room, closing the door behind her. Jeyne took the girl’s place in curtsy.

                “Your Grace.”

                Sansa turned towards her. Her blue eyes reminded her of ice that day.

                “When we were young, my sister and I would always play in the godswood. I never went there with you, though.”

                “No” Jeyne remembered, “we were about the Glass Garden and the Keep.”

                “That’s right.” Sansa approached her. “Even though I resented Jeyne and the distance she put between us, I could never take another to play in the springs and by the Heart Tree. It felt wrong. But it seems, since the three of us returned home, that _I’ve_ become the outsider.”

                “Your Grace-“

                “Quiet.” Jeyne lowered her head as Sansa came right to her, looking her over. “I pressed her to return home with me. I legitimized her and made her Hand and after it all, she abandoned me. Again. And when I need her the most as well. She wasn’t needed on the March. I told her as such.”

                Sansa went to the stand beside her bed and brought back a letter to shove in Jeyne’s hand.

                “Read this.”

                It was a summons for Lady Sansa Stark to go to Dragonstone, to pay homage to King Daeron III Targaryen, the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and The First Men, The Khal of the Great Grass Sea The Stormborn, The Breaker of Chains, The Father of Dragons, The Unburnt, and The Prince That Was Promised.

                “Can you believe that long list of titles?” Sansa commented as Jeyne read. “It seems the Targaryens haven’t lost any of that pride in their fall. Such arrogance. ‘Khal of the Great Grass Sea’? Is that supposed to mean something to me? ‘The Prince that Was Promised’?”

                She groaned. “I will not kneel before the son of the man that murdered Starks in open court. But the man has three dragons and the largest army in the world. We can’t leave him with no answer. This is why I need _Jeyne_ here!”

                Jeyne had finished reading the summons but kept her eyes lowered.

                “Look at me.” Finally, Jeyne did. “I know the two of you conspired before she left. Don’t bother lying about it. What did she say to you?”

                “There was no conspiracy, Your Grace. She only came to say goodbye.”

                “But not to me?”

                “She knew you would stop her.”

                Sansa paused. “For good? Her goodbye? Did it seem … f- _final_?”

                Jeyne hesitated.

                “The truth, Jeyne.”

                “Yes.”

                Sansa turned from her and stepped away. Jeyne watched her raise her hand to her forehead and give a shaky sigh. “You were party to it.” She said back to Jeyne before turning to look at her. “You should’ve stopped her yourself or come to me. For your sake, she’d better return. It won’t go well for you if she doesn’t.”

               

                _She hopes he’ll kill me_. She didn’t want to think that at first but Asha and the others had told her as much from the beginning. Jeyne had denied it, of course; the two of them had grown up being friends and she was a loyal servant to the Queen. But they were never as close as they were during their schooling and she was in Dragonstone with a bit of deception involved. There was always danger involved when an envoy is concerned and doubly so for her pretending to be a Stark. While she was there, Winterfell was building its defenses for war on both fronts. All of her companions were allies and friends of the former Jeyne Snow; Queen Sansa wasn’t fond of any of them. If they succeeded somehow, in obtaining dragonglass from a tense king expecting leal subjects then so be it. But she admitted to herself that they were willing sacrifices. Perhaps, that was a part of the reason she came up with her proposal. She wasn’t betraying the Queen, though she was overstepping her authority, and she was offering something to the king that may very well save her own life and the lives of her friends. She saw it as her only option. A bold one as well.

                She was brought to him two days later in his study by his bloodriders where he was seated in a cushioned chair before another with a small table between them. He was reading before his fire, from a book of the North’s Legends and Myths, particularly of Brandon the Breaker, who joined his forces to those of Joramun, the King-Beyond-The-Wall to put down the atrocities of the Night’s King. The thought might’ve seemed ridiculous to somebody in his position yet he himself had been touched by magic many times in his short life. It would be willful arrogance to deny that such a thing existed, in his eyes.

                “Your Grace” she called out softly to him as she bowed.

                “Miss Jeyne” he said, setting the book on the stand next to two cups and a tankard of wine. “Please sit. Wine?”

                Jeyne did sit with a dip of her head. “No thank you, your Grace.”

                He poured red wine into his cup and half-filled hers as well. “I insist.”

                He raised his cup, gesturing her to raise hers as well. “To the North.”

                “To the North.” They took a drink.

                He settled back in his seat. “How do you like Dragonstone?”

                “Forgive me, your Grace, but are you referring to the island or the castle?”

                He smiled. “All of it.”

                “It is not dissimilar from certain Northern places such as White Harbor and Eastwatch. Only the volcano keeps things warm even in winter. The people love you. But I do have to ask.”

                “What is it you ask?”

                “I hear you have brought many from the Free Cities. How do you house them all as well as your great army? And on a single island?”

                The king gave a small smile. “I am afraid there are certain things I cannot discuss with somebody not beneath my banners. Surely, you can understand.”

                “Of course, your Grace.”

                Daeron watched her for a moment. He had heard Jeyne Snow was a fair woman and he supposed she was. A long, narrow face framed under long, wavy black hair accompanied her dark, grey eyes. She wasn’t nearly up to par with some of the beauties he had seen in Essos or Doreah before them, however. All in all, she seemed rather unremarkable. He tried not to dwell on it.

                “Tyrion has told me of your proposal” he said. “Of my betrothal to Lady Sansa.”

                She wondered how much else Tyrion told him.

                “Why will you simply not kneel? Why should I marry the North? As he told you, the Starks will hold and rule the North in my name. Am I really so terrible?”

                “I beg your forgiveness, but Queen Sansa refuses to show fealty to the Mad King’s son.”

                “I am aware of the ill will and grudge that my father’s reign caused throughout the realm and I wholeheartedly apologize to the Starks for the actions of both him and those of my foolish elder brother. _I_ am not them but I know that simple assurances cannot heal these wounds. I wish to venture to the North and treat with your _Queen_ Sansa. I mean, I should meet her if we are to be betrothed. Don’t you think?”

                “Your Grace, I trust that Lord Hand Tyrion informed you of the North’s dangers.”

                “That you have every snowy town from the Neck to the Wall prepared to die.”

                “Well, I do hope that they do not just simply die.”

                Daeron drank from his cup. “Are you a battle commander as well? Or are you simply another schemer?”

                “Your Grace –“

                “The North is hundreds of leagues of land and some sea. There are so many lands and lords between me and Lady Sansa. Are you absolutely sure that they are as prepared as you say they are? And of the same mind?”

                Jeyne swallowed. “I am, Your Grace.”

                “We shall see.”

                Jeyne leaned forward towards him. “Your Grace. Please listen to me. In the end, our quarrels do not matter. Death for us all waits at the Wall. Everything beyond the Wall are swirls of white. Unbearable cold that would choke any fire and kill a man within minutes. I’ve seen it. Please, I come to you not as your enemy.”

                Daeron seemed to consider her words. “You said they are waiting at the Wall? Waiting on what?”

                “The Wall was magically built ages ago. It has been said to keep _them_ out. But they have all come to the Wall and their presence seems to strain it. Chunks of ice spontaneously break off and shatter to the ground every day. Eventually, the entire Wall itself will crumble and there will be nothing keeping them out. It could take months, days, a year; or it could be tomorrow. I … dearly hope it hasn’t happened already.”

                Daeron leaned towards her. “Jeyne, I leave the scheming and spying to Tyrion, Varys and others because they are capable of little else. I only deal in truths. I will have the North and all the other lands not because it is some destined thing or because my family was usurped. The kingdoms are only at peace under one king. All the others are vindictive, manipulative, snakes who misuse the trust of the people and carry out secret and open war on each other on a whim. I am not like that; my _court_ is not like that.”

                Jeyne sighed and nodded as he went on. “Only _I_ can save it. Only I am capable. My people grow all the time. My Dothraki need lands to settle. I did not bring Unsullied to simply be castle guards. The Ironborn; the lords that have sworn to me. They want battle and reward.”

                “You need the North.”

                “I need _everything_.”

                “They will never accept you. You have brought savages to our lands.”

                “You brought forth wildlings from beyond the Wall. Surely, you can sympathize.”

                “Oh, there were grave consequences to that. I assure you.”

                He studied her for a bit. “I have decided. I will treat with your Queen Sansa. I will allow you access to our ravens. Prepare letters. I will stop at every major city and castle in the North between us and Winterfell beginning with White Harbor. They are to expect a _king’s_ party. Not _their_ king, yet but a true king nonetheless. My people will be on horseback but I will be dragonback. This is dependent on you for if we are attacked, there will be war.”

                “Yes, your Grace.”

                He stood so she did as well.

                “I look forward to meeting your sister” Daeron told her. “To seeing the North and an end to the threat of the Long Night. You have my leave to take the latest mined dragonglass. We will have more of it when we arrive in the North.”

                She dipped her head. “Thank you, your Grace.”

                “You were the only ones who came to me honestly without demanding fealty or playing games with me” he said to her. “For that, I thank you. I hope that we can maintain this relationship.”

                “I do as well, your Grace.”

 

               

- _The Bay of Seals, Just Beyond the Wall near Eastwatch-By-The-Sea_

               

It was in the shape of a man but it probably couldn’t be called that anymore. It had wrapped itself in a tattered bundle of cloaks of black and grey as well as grey bandages that concealed its ruined face. It rowed a small boat with continuous motion, never exerting a grunt or hard breath in strain for the motion wasn’t taxing for it. Before it was the only other passenger and cargo, wrapped in half a dozen cloaks and blankets as well. In the distance was a ship belonging to what could only be the Night’s Watch, too large and stationary to be from nearby Skagos. It had memories of a ship of a Watch and knew it to be so.

It could only go so far so it stopped rowing at a certain point due to the burning inside and shifted the boat in the opposite direction to counter its lull to bring the boat to a halt. The oars were then pulled back into the boat and settled. With great care, it then slipped over the side and allowed itself to sink towards the bottom of the icy bay. The dip and lull that occurred from this action, disturbed the cargo’s rest whom shifted beneath the covers. The passenger began to stir and awaken, betraying tufts of black, wavy hair from within a space in the blankets that fluttered in the wind like the fire on a winter night.

               

 


	5. Within the Walls of Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daeron comes to the North and meets with Queen Sansa. Their initial courtship begins.

                Corpses covered the frozen earth like the leaves on forest grounds. Something catastrophic had happened there but that didn’t concern the man-shaped thing. It stalked closer to the cave mouth where the number of bodies underfoot grew to the point where bones crunched beneath its ragged boots, not ice and stone. Torch in hand, it found a burned out campsite within and walked to where the bodies stopped littering the cave floor and piled up instead; it threw them aside easily. Some were ragged naked and others wore black, swirling cloaks of the Night’s Watch. Behind them all was a crevice in the rock and the torch’s light drew something else as well. A spearhead surged out from within the darkness that it just barely caught in its hand, with speed and strength likely not possible in a man, and slammed it against the rocks. Its dragonglass tip chipped and broke off in pieces.

                A woman’s grunt and struggles sounded from within.

                “Damn you!” she croaked hoarsely. “Die!”          

                “I’ve come to save you, girl.” It whispered to her. “Jeyne Stark.”

                Her fight began to die down but her grip remained tight on her spear.

                “Who … are you?”

                “You don’t die here, Jeyne. But if you remain, you surely will.”

                Slowly, its grasp on the spear fell away and it stepped back from the crevice. Slowly and reluctantly, she climbed out after him in groans of discomfort. She stumbled and fell to her knees before his feet, breathing raggedly. It had been days since she had been outside of that place and her body felt as stiff as the wights moved and sounded. She was bundled in the cloaks of black brothers and tatters of wights alike, anything to keep her from freezing. Still, she shivered from the chill that clung to her person like worms looking for soft parts to poke through. She didn’t trust the man-thing but she didn’t want to remain there and die. She left herself at its mercy.

                “Wa … ter” she croaked. “Please.”

                It unlatched a furry water skin from its hip and passed it down. She was surprised that the water was kept warm within. It worked wonders on her dry throat.  

                “Not so much.” It said to her. “You have grown weak.”

                She begrudgingly set it aside. It offered a hand to help her rise. Dark rags wrapped the palm but its darkened, hard fingers showed through. She looked up and saw its tattered clothes, seeing it for some odd, unnatural thing. Still, it wasn’t like them and perhaps going along was a mistake. A worse mistake would be staying there. She reached up and took the hand, finding it as cold as a wight but it was also a hand that was helping her.

                It had indeed been the one that rowed her from the shore to the Bay of Seals, bundled her in her furs and many more while she slept, within sight of an Eastwatch ship or as close as it could take her because like others, the Wall’s ancient magic worked to keep it separated from the untainted folk of the realm.                

                She felt the boat dip and lull slightly and then heard a soft splash to accompany this. She began to lift some of the cloaks away but paused when she heard a voice and it didn’t belong to her savior.

                _“You know nothing, Jeyne Snow.”_

 _That voice. No, it can’t_ be. She looked up from the cloaks and realized there was no rescue for her nor was there her savior. Still, she felt no cold. It was him instead, working the oars that powered them both through the icy bay. _My man_. He was still thick, stocky and strong within his wear of sheep fur and deer skin; Most of his apparent flesh was freckled including his hands, arms, face, neck and back. The hair on his head was a mass of tangled, bright red for he was ‘kissed by fire’ as the Free Folk said. He had red stubble on his face that he fashioned a beard. He had bragged that he would grow a magnificent fiery face like his father but he didn’t grow hair on his face well. His jaw was rounded and yet strong though slightly crooked; his blue-grey eyes were as unkind as when they first met.

                She sat up and reached for him. _“Ygren.”_

He stiffened and glared at her. _“Don’t do it, woman. I’ll save you but I will have no soft touch from a traitor. I’ll smack ya. See if I won’t.”_

She scooted closer to him regardless. “ _I had no choice. Please, see that. I had to protect Winterfell. The north.”_

_“You killed me.”_

_“No!”_ she dared slip in close to him. _“It wasn’t me! I could never harm you!”_

_“You killed us all. You knew what we were fighting for and you killed us for it!”_

_“Stop it, please!”_

_“To think I would have had you for my wife. I should’ve never taken you!”_

_“I said stop it!”_

_“No, you stop it!”_

_As she watched him, three arrows punctured him in him in the back from nowhere at all and he began choking and bleeding from his mouth._

_“Ygren!”_ she lunged for him but she fell on nothing for he was never really there. It wasn’t right. There were good memories to be had as well so why did her thoughts of him turn to pain? Could she have nothing? He might have been gone but two investigating boats were rowing out towards her from the ship; each were filled with three armed brothers. She knew her survival was at stake and that she should have called for them but she suddenly felt that she didn’t deserve it; any kind of salvation. The harsh winds of the bay were something she was beginning to feel so she packed in her dark, flowing curls and the rest back into her bundle and laid back down.

               

Rest. That was what she was supposed to be doing. That was why she had been tucked in warmed furs and left in a guarded room with a stoked fire at Eastwatch. Past deeds had made her an eternal friend of those in leadership at the Watch and protected her from the unsavory characters. She had eaten small helpings as she grew in strength, beginning with strips of meat and small cups of soup to small chicken legs and cups of water. All of that to rest again. Rest. Yet, how could one rest when she wakes to find her queenly sister at their bedside upon awakening?

                Her eyes fluttered open that morning and she glimpsed her at her side, seated in a dress of nightly green brilliance. Her auburn hair was in rolled tumbles and crowned in a headpiece of polished obsidian. Jeyne was awestruck and at a loss of words.

                “Sister” Sansa murmured to her. “Finally you wake.”

                “You … shouldn’t be here” Jeyne groaned.

                “All this time and that is all you have to say to me?” asked Sansa. “That I shouldn’t be here. _You_ shouldn’t be here.”

                “You’re the Queen. Your place is in Winterfell.”

                Sansa rose and leaned over Jeyne. She planted a kiss on her cheek. “So is yours. I told you not to go.”

                “I-I’m sorry. I was the only one of them that’s ever seen them. The true threat.”

                “They told me of what you did.”

               

                Jeyne and the others had come upon wights beyond the wall and had their quarry in chains and bound for their Eastwatch ships. They were waiting for them on the shore to the Bay of Seals, only then they were set upon by a near army of the undead. Over a hundred armed wights chased and trapped them in a valley. So, Jeyne and her company had no choice but to fight their way through. It was a terrible event and many of them were lost in the struggle. Jeyne had two daggers of dragonglass and she had Longclaw. She made her through the center, along with half a dozen others, to a clear path through the valley. Only what she saw there stilled her heart. They were riding coursers that were in various degrees of decay; the horses had flesh missing and bone and muscles exposed to the winter air. Upon their backs were three armored Others with their otherworldly bodies nearly transparent in the open daylight and their armor gleaming in distorted colors of the rainbow.

                “They said you went to them” Sansa went on.

                “I did. To kill them.”

                “Yet, I have heard from the survivors that your sword wasn’t raised.”

                Jeyne did walk to them and oddly enough as she did, no wights attacked her; they instead shifted their focus to somebody else of the living. Longclaw hung limply from her grasp, dragging through the snow until it dropped from her hand completely and laid there behind her. She wasn’t alerted by this at all and continued on. If any of the others had seen her face, they would’ve seen that her eyes seemed awestruck and glazed.

                “And you left it. I didn’t believe it. Why would you do that?”

                Jeyne laid back and sighed in weariness. “I’m tired, my Queen. I promise I will make the journey for Winterfell when I am well again.”

                “I can see that.” Sansa said with a nod. “When you are fit enough to travel, we will go back together.”

                “But you have seen that I am well. You shouldn’t even be here. Who holds the Hall in your absence?”

                “Oh, _now_ you show concern for our Hall. Well, fear not, sister. Littlefinger, Lord Cerwyn and others have it in hand.”  

                “Littlefinger? Sansa, tell me you haven’t given that man power over matters in the Hall.”

                “You focus on that name like a wolf on a rabbit. How curious.”

                Jeyne closed her eyes. The two of them had argued over this subject so many times already and she didn’t wish to rehash it yet again.

                “Will you please return to the Hall?” she said instead.

                 “When you are well enough to travel, I will.”

                “You’re being irresponsible. You’re queen.”

                “And you’re my Hand.” Sansa said with some resentment, standing away from her. “Hands do not leave their Queen’s sides to run to the Others and neither do Starks! By the gods, Jeyne, there are only two of us now! Why are you so intent on leaving me alone in the world?”

                Jeyne was quieted then, somewhat shamed. She turned away momentarily. “That wasn’t my intention.”

                “Then what?”

                Jeyne didn’t answer.

                “I’ll be by to see you again in an hour’s time. I hope you’ll be receptive then.” Sansa then left her there.

               

 

                A riding party arrived at the gates of Winterfell on a later evening; One of high merit that was given near immediate entrance past the guard without issue. When the gates were opened, Lady Steward Jeyne Poole rode into the stronghold on a northern courser with a party that included Asha Greyjoy, Lady Val, Toregg the Tall and members of the Stark household guard. She immediately gave her horse to stablehands to board while she hurried to the Great Hall and shoved its doors open.

                What she saw astonished her. The tables had been largely pushed apart and two fully armored combatants were battling it out in a melee with blunted weapons right in the center of the great room. The northern lords were cheering them on as well as some of the Vale lords. Lord Baelish sat alone on the dais in Queen Sansa’s seat. She went to the large feast bell by the Hall door and began ringing it furiously, putting its sounds over all else in the room. Slowly but surely, they all began quiet down and look to the source of the sound.

                When they had ceased, she stepped towards the center within plain view of the high table.

                “What is the meaning of all this? What is going on?”

                Lord Baelish stood and raised a glass of mulled wine. “Lady Steward. I am glad to see you returned home at last.”

                “Lord Baelish, what are you doing upon the dais? As you know, that place is reserved for the Queen in the North, the Hand and the maester. In the absence of maester, that is myself. That place is not for you.”

                Lord Baelish paused for a moment and dipped his head in her direction. “My Lady Steward, of course. I will not deny you your honored high position. I was only keeping your seat warm for you.”

                _You were warming the Queen’s seat and probably more than that though I loathe to think of it_.

                She waited for Baelish to vacate the dais before she went on. He stood but didn’t leave the dais so she settled for that. “Where is the Queen?”

                Lady Anya Waynwood from Ironoaks and the Vale stood. “Our precious Queen has taken to Eastwatch-By-The-Sea. Her darling sister, The Hand, has been recovered.”

                Jeyne turned to her suddenly and gave pause but otherwise went about her business.

                “The Queen … went away because of that? Who has been left castellan in her stead?”

                She followed their eyes and they all settled on Lord Petyr Baelish, who smiled and raised his glass of wine again in assurance.

                _Gods, no_.

                “I’m sure you’ve done admirably, Lord Baelish and I thank you.”

                “I only live to serve.”

                Jeyne Poole narrowed her eyes. “But I am here now. Yes, I am Lady Steward. And as Lady Steward, I say this rabble must be cleaned up!” She gestured to the swords, shields and armor stacked on walls and tables overturned while they had their games. “This is unseemly! My staff! Maids and grooms! Set it right again!”

                Quickly, those keepers that were in the hall began to get to work and call for those that weren’t present.

                Robert Arryn, whom was among the crowded Vale lords, feebly protested. “But the fighting … I wanted to see the fighting. It was fun …”

                Jeyne moved to the dais. “I am also the Queen’s acting Hand. _I_ am the castellan.”

                She sat down in the high seat next to the Queen’s and the cupbearer came to her.

                “Drink, my lady?” the nervous girl asked.

                Jeyne denied her and waved her away. “I have brought chests overflowing with dragonglass! We must prepare! King Daeron Targaryen and his royal party are on the way to Winterfell. They are royal allies! I have already informed all castles and cities. They are not to be attacked. We will receive them.”

                There was an uproar in the Hall.

                “What is the meaning of this, Jeyne Poole?” Lord Yohn Royce demanded to know.

                “Have you truly invited a foreign invader to these lands?” asked Mors Umber.

                “Yet again you over step your authority, Jeyne Poole!” Ser Justin Massey accused “And where is Lady Asha?”

                Asha stepped up behind him and slapped him on the back of the neck. “Are you giving my Lady a hard time?”

                Jeyne was immediately glad for Asha. She knew that Melisandre’s sworn knights were quick to hysterics as most religious fanatics often were; if one were riled, it would likely set off the others. Yet, she also knew that Ser Justin desired Asha and her hand above all else. Asha surely knew when to take advantage of this.

                “Does Queen Sansa know of this Dragon King’s visit?” Lord Baelish conveniently asked.

                “I’m already in the process of sending ravens to Eastwatch and all concerning locations in the North to expect the King’s visit.”

                “Already?” Lord Baelish questioned.

                “I am the Lady Steward.”

                “Indeed.” Lord Baelish agreed. “I only hope that Queen Sansa shares your acceptance in sharing the Halls with another court that would much rather rule us.” With that, he finally left the vicinity of Queen Sansa’s seat and left her alone on the dais.

                Jeyne’s cloaked chambermaids and grooms were hasty in copying decrees that she herself had written beforehand and brought them all for her to sign and seal afterwards. Ravens were sent to White Harbor, Ramsgate, Hornwood, Cerwyn, Torrhen’s Square and of course, Eastwatch. Though she had sent many from Dragonstone, King Daeron was truly en route and this was something of which the North should be warned.

                “King Daeron is visiting our castles!” she announced to the gathered Northern lords afterwards. “He says he is interested in the North and that he just wants to see how we live as well as the true threat! Believe me, he is giving us opportunity to damn ourselves as well! This decree I have sent is from my station as acting Queen’s Hand, which is as good as the Queen’s word herself! King Daeron will be mounted on dragonback but his party will be a traditional royal progress! They will not be fired upon or harried in any way. They are to be treated with all ceremony and respect as befit an ally. Better yet, a king. I highly advise all gathered lords of White Harbor, Ramsgate, Hornwood Castle, Castle Cerwyn, and Torrhen’s Square to return to their seats to ensure proper treatment of the king unless you trust those you left behind to keep good faith. Violate this decree and you will become enemies of the Crown, I assure you.”

 

                “A wheelhouse, your Grace?” Jeyne Stark asked Queen Sansa as she tightened the furs over herself on the ride from the Gift. “Things have changed, haven’t they?”

                “It doesn’t do for me to ride outside the walls on horseback” Sansa stated. “A queen has to maintain her dignity.”

                “You have been spending too much time with Littlefinger, my sister.”

                “That isn’t Littlefinger’s words. That’s tradition. That’s proper. It was one thing when we were lords and wardens of the North but we’re kings and queens now. Things have changed. We _should_ be higher than the others.”

                “I’m sure Lyanna Mormont, Mors Umber and the others would agree. They want a fighting sovereign, not a riding parade.”

                Sansa exhaled. “It’s winter. You’re ill. I wouldn’t like to ride horseback for two hundred or so leagues regardless. Just accept the wheelhouse.”

                Jeyne leaned back and sighed.

                Sansa shook her head. “You’re as difficult as ever.”

                “You missed me.”

                Sansa looked down and folded her hands. “I did. Don’t ever do that again. I mean it. You broke my heart. And without you, our dear Poole’s lost it.” Sansa picked up copies of the letters sent from Winterfell and handed them over to her to read. “She didn’t just betroth me to Mad King the Second, she is allowing him free rein in our kingdom. He is flying those lizards over every castle on the way to Winterfell and leaving members of court to lodge at each one.”

                Jeyne set down the letters after skimming them as well. “She also secured chests of the dragonglass.”

                “Minor compared to the audacity of betrothing me to them. To anybody.”

                Jeyne sighed and flexed her neck. “Sister, you sent her to a land of Dragons and a castle said to be haunted by ghosts. Not to mention the court of Dothraki horselords and a king descended from generations of mad men that have done worse than Tywin Lannister. She had no choice. The fact that we may yet gain him as an ally is remarkable. Fighting a war with him would be devastating.”

                Sansa shook her head. “So, you would have me marry him?”

                “At least meet the man.” Jeyne said with a shake of her head.

                “If it goes badly, we’re striking off her head” Sansa said simply with a shrug. “That’s it. She’ll lose her head.”

                “Sister …”

                “I’m serious. She raised the stakes herself. The punishment should fit the reward, shouldn’t it? May the old gods help her now.”

                When they arrived within Winterfell walls some four days later, Sansa grabbed Jeyne’s arm.

                “You will go immediately to your chambers. I’ll have servants sent to you shortly. You are not to leave the tower. We will speak later.”

                She knocked on the door and her guard opened their door and put down the steps for her. She stepped down to see Jeyne Poole and her staff of grooms and maids and their family members, Melisandre and her knights, the lords, ladies and knights of Arryn, and northern lords, all kneeling before her.

                “You Grace”, Jeyne Poole said from a knee with her head lowered, “the North is yours. We have graciously awaited your return.”

                Sansa peered down at her but turned to one of the guards and spoke to him instead. “See my sister to her chambers.”

                “Yes, your Grace.”

                She then turned her attention to Jeyne Poole before her. “How close is he?”

                “Your Grace?”

                “Don’t play the fool now. How close is the Mad King?”

                “King Daeron the Third is at White Harbor now, your Grace, though I suspect he could’ve easily passed on to Ramsgate.”

                “Listen to you” Sansa said with a sneer. “Do you serve me or him?”

                Jeyne gasped. “I serve you faithfully, your Grace. And always will.” She peered up to look at her and happened to glance upon Jeyne Stark being helped down from the wheelhouse. The true Hand hesitated at the sight of her and gave her an encouraging smile.

                Sansa spoke out to the courtyard. “You may all rise.” As they did, she spoke through gritted teeth to her Lady Steward. “I suppose that we’d better prepare to receive a king.”

 

                The Lady Steward walked past a bench in the forefront of the bell tower where she noticed Toregg the Tall and Asha Greyjoy flirting over mugs of liquor and chuckled to herself. She went up the winding stairs of the tower and saw that the chambers were guarded by two of the Stark household guard though they didn’t move to stop her. Jeyne had taken the room that had once housed young, recovering Bran some years ago. She knocked twice before she simply opened it and went in.

                “You foolish woman” the Queen’s Hand called out from bed, “doing your best to protect the North. What were you thinking?”

                Jeyne Poole gave a sad laugh and her eyes watered for some reason. “Welcome home, my lady.” She moved over to her bedside. “I’m glad to see you well and in one piece.”

                “I feel broken up _inside_ , believe you me” Stark replied.

                Jeyne Poole looked around the room. It was meager and carried a moldy, dusty odor despite the lemonwater that had been used to cover it up. “I will find better quarters for you than this …”

                “No, this is fine for me. Don’t talk about that. How was Dragonstone?”

                Jeyne hesitated. “I used your name and likeness.”

                “Likeness?”

                “Melisandre.”

                She nodded. “Of course.”

                “It didn’t work, really. The king has red priests of his own who were constantly working against me and her glamor. The poor man is confused. He likely thinks I look like some mixture of myself and you. Perhaps I shifted to him in the same room.”

                “Tell me about him and Dragonstone.”

                She told her of the sulfuric air and general atmosphere of Dragonstone the island. The mostly pretty people and refugees of the war overflowed the island but were in good spirits due to the religious freedom and trade that was brought in from Essos. The gloomy castle had an assorted yet respectable court full of displaced lords, ladies and knights that constantly tried to curry the Targaryen’s favor. She told her that she had seen two dragons: Visenyx was pale with golden horns and spinal plating like a crown and armor and Rhaellys was a dark leafy green with light coloring of bronze on her underbelly, wings and claws.

                “They’re she-dragons” Jeyne Poole told her. “Or at least they were. Dragons apparently change genders often throughout their lives as necessary to mate and these are the last of them. But he still considers them his daughters because they were born female.”

                “I thought there were three.”

                “I did, too. I asked about it and he told me that Doreon spends most of her time flying across the sea and he sees little of her.”

                “How odd.”

                Jeyne Poole nodded in agreement.

                “What of the king himself?”

                She told her. King Daeron, to Jeyne, was a serious man. He was brutally honest and appreciated honesty. He allowed Tyrion and others to govern but stepped in when they attempted to do something that displeased him. There were those in his court who had agendas but most seemed almost fanatically loyal to him. He had the fabled looks of a young Targaryen and had an almost surreal beauty but he had a clipped ear and was perhaps more scarred than that. There was a sadness to him and perhaps a reluctance yet something drove him to act with purpose. He seemed a fair negotiator and didn’t take battle lightly. That was perhaps why he was open to meeting their Queen.

                “King Daeron the Third” Jeyne Stark murmured. “Will he be our salvation?”

                “He refused to acknowledge North as an independent kingdom” Jeyne Poole told her. “He denied Sansa as queen and your legitimization. He sees you as Jeyne Snow.”

                Jeyne’s eyes narrowed. “Until he kills me, he has no say in the matter.”

                “He softened on it somewhat. I defended your name.”

                Jeyne settled back and gave a grateful nod. “Thank you.” She reached out her with her right hand. Jeyne Poole took her hand and allowed herself to be pulled into bed on top of her. Jeyne Snow had always been like the older sister she never had, hurtful and protective in turn but loving all the same. That relationship hadn’t changed with Jeyne Stark and had likely deepened, in fact.

                “My sister threatened to behead you should the meeting go bad” Jeyne Stark told her as she wrapped her arms over her and stroked her hair.

                “I wish luck to whomever cares for the fools in the Hall after I’m gone then.”

                Jeyne chuckled and kissed her atop her head. “We’d all suffer for it.”

 

               

                Rakharo, Jhogo, Aggo, Victarion Greyjoy, Moqorro, Lord Adrian Celtigar and young Lord Monterys Velaryon arrived on horseback accompanied by companions and an order of helmed soldiers sworn to Houses Targaryen, Velaryon, Celtigar and Greyjoy. At the rear was a mounted honor guard that carried the banners of the aforementioned houses as well as the reversed colors of Targaryen, Blackfyre. They were given entrance to the courtyard from the south gate and were greeted by a welcoming party.

                The Dothraki in their company were less than impressed with the North’s climate. They wore thick lamb wool and left their arms bare.

                “The deeper we go in this shit heap” muttered Aggo in his language, “the more I curse these icemen and their lands!”

                “What can grow here?” asked Jhogo, rubbing his own arms for warmth. “My khalakka will not settle here.”

                Queen Sansa headed the greeting party alongside Lady Steward Jeyne Poole, Lord Protector Petyr Baelish and others.

                Queen Sansa stepped towards them. “I am Queen Sansa Stark, Queen in the North and High Lady of Winterfell. The people of Winterfell welcome you. But I must ask, where is King Daeron?”

                Victarion stepped down from his horse and approached the Queen. Some of the Stark men and knights sworn to Manderly behind her reached for their hilts instinctively. He wore a seal-skin doublet over heavy chainmail and a golden cape bearing his kraken. He removed his kraken-shaped helm and went to a knee before her.

                “Queen Sansa” he greeted in his gravelly voice. “I am Lord Victarion Greyjoy and I faithfully serve King Daeron the Third, the Prince That Was Promised.”

                She nodded to him and he rose again.

                “You’ll want to clear a wide berth in the yard. My king comes.” He pointed upwards and Sansa’s eyes followed.

                A shadowy, winged shadow was circling them then.

                “Seven help us” whispered Sansa in distress.

                There were men beneath the scorpions lining the walls but they weren’t actually manning them in good faith. She suddenly wished they were. She shuddered when she heard a few beastly hacking coughs and a short snarl from the high beast.

                “Clear the yard!” shouted Victarion. “Provide wide berth!”

                “D-do as he says” Sansa said low, stunned.

                “Move back!” Jeyne Poole shouted for her. “Away! The king will land! Away!”

                It took some time but surely, the people made clear the area and pushed towards the walls.

                Slowly, the shadow began to descend with hard, flowing flaps of its wings. The hard, beating sounds they made were like a galley’s sails blown in angry sea winds accompanied by a monstrous heartbeat. Jeyne could see that Queen Sansa was shaking though she wouldn’t run or abandon the others even if she wanted to hide somewhere inside. Sansa felt a hand reach over and take hers, interlocking slender fingers with her own. She looked over and saw Jeyne Poole giving her a comforting nod. She steeled herself and looked back skyward.

                Daeron descended on a dragon of pale cream scales with horns, spinal protrusions and claws that appeared shiny and gilded. He looked resplendent upon her back, wearing finery of black and scarlet and a snow bear skin cloak, a hollow snow bear’s head hooded over his head and body.

                Visenyx gave a triumphant roar that worried all northerners and those of the Vale in the yard. Who in Winterfell had imagined they’d ever see a dragon? Who in the North? And generations past?

                He carefully slid down her back and stood next to her head. He whispered some distinctive words to her in High Valyrian as he scratched her beneath her jaw. He lowered his head and bumped it against the crown of her own. She closed the slits of her molten gold eyes. He stepped away from her; the beat of her wings created gusts that felt like winter winds come again. In moments, she was rising above Winterfell and soared upwards into the distance.

                Slowly, King Daeron turned towards Queen Sansa and lowered his snow bear hood, displaying his long, unbraided hair of silver-gold and eyes of light purple. He wore a band around his head at the center of his forehead of ruby, gold and obsidian.

                Both objectively admitted internally that they were among the comeliest creatures either had ever seen. Some might say as a king and queen should be.

                Victarion announced him. “Winterfell, I present to you King Daeron, the Protec-“

                Daeron raised a hand back to Victarion and gave him a glance. “That won’t be necessary, Lord Victarion. We are in Queen Sansa’s court. These are her halls.”

                He went to her and she watched him closely the entire way. He took her left hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

                “Queen Sansa” he said to her. “Letters and talk of your beauty have done you no justice.”

                “King Daeron” she answered. “If I were just a little girl, I daresay you would strike me as one of those handsome knights from the songs.”

                “You honor me.”

                Jeyne spoke up abruptly. “King Daeron, I welcome you to Winterfell. As Lady Steward, I will find suitable quarters and servants for your party.”

                “Jeyne Stark.” He said to her, causing her eyes to widen in surprise. “You have a different look about you today. Could it be the winter snow?”

                “Your Grace … forgive me” Jeyne Poole frantically apologized.

                “King Daeron, forgive _me_ ” Sansa cut in for her. “This is not my sister, Jeyne Stark. This is my Lady Steward, Jeyne Poole. My sister and I were indisposed and I sent my trusted advisor in my stead. I hope you’ll forgive my deceit.”

                Daeron looked between the two of them and gave a half smile. “It is no issue. Lady Jeyne left a glowing impression on me and of the North.”

                “Where has the dragon gone?”

                “I sent Visenyx to graze far from here. Do not worry that she will feed on owned property. I have made arrangements with a farmer near Deepwood Motte to feed on his cattle. I have and will continue to pay him handsomely.”

                “I hope you will think to ask my permission next time?”

                Daeron seemed wounded. “Of course. My apologies.”

                Sansa sighed then turned to Lady Steward Jeyne. “Lady Steward, have the party seen to their chambers and prepare the Hall for a feast. It may be winter but we can still have the grandest feast Winterfell has seen in fifty years.”

 

                They were seated in the Hall where various meats, tankards of liquor and breads were passed around on platters. Aggo stood by the doors tearing into a large hunk of roasted tuna, a fish he had never tasted.

                “This meat is drowned in salt” Aggo look over the charred flesh in observation. “It has an odd smell.”

                “That is fish from the sea” Jhogo casually told him as he drunk mead, which he had developed a taste for since their arrival at White Harbor.

                “Poisoned fish?!” Aggo exclaimed and looked down at it in his palms. Slowly, he put another piece in his mouth before swallowing the rest in short order. He liked it and contemplated whether he would bother a serving girl with giving him more. He found most of the girls too pale and plain for his liking but he had to admit that one or two of them seemed of good stock.

                Some Westorosi didn’t think too highly of the horse-loving people.

                “Bloody savages, the lot of them” muttered Yohn Royce under his breath. “Worse than the mountain clans. I won’t have them anywhere near the Vale. That damn foreigner king, as well. Brings nothing but eunuchs and freaks to our lands.”

                “Dragons, too” Petyr said from his side. “Don’t forget about them.”

                “How could I?” Royce’s eye grew big. “Beasts! They pose a threat to us all! How much flesh would it take to feed a monster like that? Winter is here.”

                “Yes” Petyr said, “but imagine if you could control such a beast. Nobody could stand against you.”

                “You are a foolish man. Only a Targaryen can tame a dragon.”

                “You’re likely right. You were there. You saw the love it had for its master. Yet, one must wonder how smart these creatures are. Could their love transfer to their masters’ wife, for instance? Just a thought.”

                “You think too much, Littlefinger. You’d do well to leave the plots to your betters.”

                Though he didn’t notice it, a flash of rage crossed Petyr’s features as he looked at him. A second later, Petyr stilled his face and drunk from his goblet.

                “Perhaps you’re right, my lord. I’ll consider it.”

               

                On the dais, King Daeron had a high seat on Queen Sansa’s right. Jeyne Poole was conveniently seated on Sansa’s left with an empty chair between them. Daeron couldn’t help but give occasional glances in the direction of the empty seat. He would also look over the Hall itself. A large feast hall but miniscule compared to his courtroom and even his own dining chamber. Still, the people seemed much livelier and more honest when compared to the droll people always clamoring for his favor. These people were happily feasting, drinking and singing. He hadn’t seen much of that since his time in the Free Cities before his rule over Meereen.

                “I know it isn’t your traditional court” Sansa said to him, “but this hall and many like it have been mainstays of Winterfell since the Age of Heroes. I did consider building a court but I think with these circumstances, this hall is more apt. I mean, look at them. How could they forget their worries in a stuffy court?”

                Daeron looked at her. “And what of the Wall? What happens when this army of the dead break through?”

                “I have trust that the Wall will send their ravens in the event of that. Their ravens will be sent to all corners of the realm, whether they heed them or not.”

                “I would like to see it. The Wall. I would like to see this _threat_ for myself.”

                “You don’t need to go to the Wall for that.”

                He looked back to her in curiosity.

                “Come with me after the Feast. I have something to show you.”

                “I look forward to it.” He looked at her hand, noticing that she wore ceremonial dark lace gloves that were ringed over her middle fingers. “What do you make of you make of our proposed arrangement?”

                Sansa sighed and closed her eyes for a moment before reopening them. “I must be honest. You are the son of the man who brutally murdered my uncle and grandfather and terrorized the realm.”

                “You do know that these are things that I cannot help nor change. I never knew my father. I never knew any of my family save for my sister. I never had the chance. But I’m here, aren’t I? My people are in your castles, trading and lodging peacefully. Surely, you can see I can’t be my father.”

                “Perhaps. I know that we are not your common court but we are our own people.”

                “Are you saying you will not join my kingdom?”  

                Her eyes narrowed at him. “Never. As for our proposal, I would consider it if you would.”

                “You would?”

                She smiled and swirled the goblet of wine in her hand. “Of course, you do have a literal mountain of dragonglass, access to Valyrian steel and dragons. You are the best choice to face the Long Night. You are also of great, royal stock. And very handsome if you don’t mind me saying.”

                He gave her a surprised look.

                “Don’t look like that. You know what you are by now. You’re more than valuable. Still, I am not a blushing maid. I do not see you romantically as of now. It could grow into love, I’m sure. My parents didn’t love each other at first either but if it gave me the alliance I seek I do not see how I couldn’t grow to love you.”

                “Surely, you know that the Stark line ends with you no matter who you marry. If there are only you and your sister, your line can’t go on.”

                “You’re right. But if our line dies, may our line die with a queen.”

                Again, his eyes drifted past her to the empty seat to her left. She caught it this time.

                “She isn’t here” she said with a smile. “My sister has indeed returned from beyond the Wall but she is unwell. She has been confined to her quarters. Forgive me but I wish her to have her rest. Are you particularly interested in her?”

                Daeron settled back in his chair and shook his head. “Not particularly. No.”

 

                In her tower chamber, Jeyne crept back over from the chamber pot and limped back into her bed. Almost as soon she did this, there were knocks at her door. Then it was opened and her visitor walked right in, in skirts of black and deep scarlet. Her red irises flickered in the lights of the nearby fire.

                Jeyne laughed sardonically. “Those guards. What’s the point of them if they’ll just let anybody in? Hmm, Melisandre?”

                “Indeed, Lady Jeyne.” She clasped her hands together below her waist and approached the foot of the bed. “But you haven’t been one who’s needed protection for quite a while. We can agree on that at least, can’t we?”

                Jeyne’s eyes followed her as she drew close to her fireplace. Melisandre always seemed drawn to fire.

                “Why are you still here?” Jeyne asked her. “Lord Stannis is gone and so are his wife and daughter. What else is there for you? It’s such a shame that all of that time was wasted.”

                “I am only human, Jeyne” she said with her back to the fire. “I err just like all others.”

                 “Yes, but when _you_ err, people seem to die horrible deaths.”

                Melisandre seemed to ignore that. “Time wasn’t wasted. It all led me here to the true war. To you and to him.”

                “ _Him_?”

                “Do you know why we are so … connected? You and I? Because we are counterparts. Both opposite. And yet … the same.”

                Jeyne shook her head. “I don’t know why I ever entertained this. You spout such nonsense.”

                “You believe yourself a servant of false gods …”

                “They aren’t false.”

                “Yet, you did what you did.”

                “That wasn’t me!”

                Melisandre rose a settling hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I … only mean to say that whether you believe or not, the Lord of Light has grand plans for you. You are his sword.”

                Jeyne sighed. “I suppose I _do_ know nothing.”

                “Neither of us do. Fire and Ice. Flame and Snow. Light and Dark. Opposites. They don’t seem to mesh, do they?” She interlocked her fingers, one pair of knuckles over the other. “But what if they did? Light and darkness can be similar in many ways. Light is illuminating but those swimming in it cast a wide shadow. Perhaps that’s why there are those who are suspicious of me. But what of those who thrive in darkness? If they cast even a tiny sliver of light, would it not appear blinding? You cast a bright cone of light indeed, Jeyne Stark.”

                Jeyne sighed and shook her head. _This woman is as mad as me, sometimes_. _No_. _Madder, even_.

                “It’s coming, Jeyne. And war will come with it. We’ll be on opposite sides of battle. Enemies. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends while there’s still light.”

 

                They all heard it. The roar of Visenyx in the distance. It froze Queen Sansa in place. King Daeron gave her the time to adjust, showing his patience to her apprehension.

                She turned back to him in time. “I suppose you eventually grow used to that, don’t you?”

                “Eventually.”

                She smiled. “Come.”

                She led them by lantern to the cells in the guard’s hall. The guards on sentry dipped their spears at her appearance.

                “Your Grace.”

                “Your Grace.”

                Sansa nodded at them. “How are they?”

                One raised his half-helmed head defiantly. “They never stop, my Queen. They never sleep. Hewitt knows better than that inside.”

                Sansa nodded and continued on inside the cell area. Daeron could hear them before he saw. She had already told him what they were; the true purpose of the expedition beyond the wall. Her own sister had been the last to return, given up for lost after a time. He heard the harsh rattling of chains first. Then the scraping of stone.

                “They never stop, my Queen” the spear-wielding guard named Hewitt told them at their arrival. “Sometimes, they thrash. Sometimes, they don’t. Sometimes, they move together. Mostly, they don’t. Sometimes, that light in their eyes dim and they stop moving but just when you think they’re done, they’re right back at it again.”

                He looked at them. Seven of them were chained together by wrists and ankles when applicable; a few were chained to the wall by their throats. Their eyes burned with blue radiance; a legitimate unnatural glow that shone like sparkling sapphire or even a blue fire. The black rags some of them wore had torn off by then and betrayed spots of bone and dry, blackened innards. One of them was hanging from the wall by the wrists as most of its legs were gone with shattered bone showing through though it seemed undisturbed by this. One or two of them were mostly whole but a few of them had wounds of a clearly dead person. None of them made sounds and only seemed to stare at Daeron all the while, following his every movement with their heads and eyes. He couldn’t say it didn’t affect him somewhat.

                “If free” Sansa said to him, “they would not stop until they rip you to pieces or they are destroyed. There are thousands of them at the Wall and not enough can be said of the Others who lead them. I do hope you don’t need a demonstration of _them_.”

                Daeron looked at her. “Dragonglass can kill them?”

                “And Valyrian steel. And Fire.”

                Daeron nodded. He stared right into the eyes of one of them as it continuously stared right back. “Then you shall have them all.”

 

                Some days went by and in the passing of that time, Daeron had flown Visenyx over the nearby landscape, passing over the wolfswood and awed many a settler who dwelled near there. He had made visits to the lichyard, where he saw a direwolf called Ghost chase off anybody who neared a grounded door, leading into the underground crypts.

                He very nearly pulled his own blade and made for the creature.

                “What are you doing?” Sansa asked him.

                “I won’t hurt it” he told her. “I’ll just run it off.”

                She touched his shoulder and shook her head. “Don’t do that. Ghost is a Stark companion, like your dragons. She is only protecting my sister.”

                “Your sister?” Daeron asked her. “Jeyne Stark is near?”

                “I used to have a direwolf as well” Sansa told him wistfully. “Lady. She was so pretty. But she died. Because of two foolish girls and a vile boy, a beautiful creature like that was killed. I can show you where her bones were put to rest.”

                She went on the lichyard, leaving him to look at the snow white Ghost. Ghost was nearly three times the size of a wolf and twice as dense by that point. She was larger than any of her littermates had ever been as well as their mother. He watched as she calmed and laid back down on the ground before the crypt door. Only after then did he walk on after Sansa.

               

He took walks with Queen Sansa to the godswood. When he saw the partially snow-covered weirwood, he found himself slightly disappointed. On Dragonstone, Jeyne Poole told him of the ringing shallow pool that shone scarlet and gold due to reflections of the leaves and the sun above. But that was in the summer. It was winter so the pool was dark and frozen. Queen Sansa wiped the snow from the weirwood’s face, revealing a carved, melancholic face and dark eyes with frozen red within making it appear like gouged sockets.

                “The Heart tree used to frighten me as a little girl” Queen Sansa said to him as she stood between him and the tree. “Jeyne used them to tease me, sometimes. I cherish those times.”

                “Jeyne …”

                “Stark. My sister.”

                “I have yet to see this fabled sister of yours.”

                “She has been quite sad lately and not fit for matters in the Hall. She seems to spend much of her time dwelling with in her room with Lady Melisandre at her side. Other times, she goes to the glass garden or to our crypts. Our Stark family crypts. Are you sure you’re not especially interested in my sister?”

                Daeron looked at her before the Heart Tree and imagined her as his queen. He knew he probably shouldn’t lie to his wife. “Not especially, no. I was only curious to meet her.”

                Sansa smiled and went on. She turned back towards the Heart Tree’s face. “Besides prayer, this is where all of our marriages are made as well. Did you know that?”

                Daeron nodded. “I read of it. Would you want that? If we were married? One before the Heart Tree?”

                “We could do it in both the fashion of the old gods _and_ the new. I mean, if you agree on our marriage.”

                “T-that would be fine … I mean, if you were … fine with it.”

                “Fine.”

                “Fine.”

                “ _Fine_.”

                Daeron began laughing despite himself. Then Sansa began laughing. A king and a queen of two separate but possibly joining nations laughed together before the Heart Tree. His bloodriders and her household guard and defending Vale knights shared slightly uncomfortable glances.

                After their laughter died down, she began to rehearse the ceremony of marriage before the Heart Tree. “The groom and his party are already waiting at the tree when the bride arrives. A man, a father or her lord, will arrive with the bride. The bride wears a dress of white lambs-wool to signify her innocence and worth before the gods. The one presiding over the marriage, not a priest because we don’t have those in the old faith, will identify both the groom and the bride. He will ask out loud as if to anybody, ‘who brings this woman before the Heart Tree’, by ‘ _woman’_ I mean her name, of course. The man giving her away identifies himself. Then it is asked, ‘who accepts …’ “

 

                The following day, Daeron was by himself walking near the lichyard when he saw the great Ghost again sitting near the ironwood door to the crypts. That meant that Jeyne Stark was inside. He couldn’t reason why it bothered him that he had never actually glimpsed her in person until that point but it did. He approached the crypts before he even realized he made up his mind. On her haunches, she was nearly as tall as he was and he knew that she was much longer. He knew a thing or two about large, mystical creatures. He considered reaching for his sword but decided against it. His daughters knew such gestures were threats so he reasoned that the direwolf would perceive it this way as well. They were predators but were forced to abide the presence of man.

                It didn’t take long for him to be noticed and it had only just occurred to him to be wary. It stalked towards him, swift and silent in all ways; if he was ever unfortunate enough to be stalked by it without Visenyx he would notice it only too late. He crouched low and held his hands up in submission. This wolf was not his dragon; he was attuned to and could avoid Visenyx’s violence if need be. There would be no way to defend from Ghost if she tried to kill him. They met in the middle and Daeron went to his knees and lowered his head. Ghost bared her teeth silently and crept closer; she stopped and studied him for a moment or two, gathering his scent. He removed his right glove and reached the cautious hand out to her. She only needed another moment to deem him non-threatening to her human. She crept right on past him towards the castle walls, brushing his face with her soft, immense fur. Somewhat amazed at this action, he looked back at her. She stopped as if she felt his eyes on her and craned her neck around to look right back at him.

                _Is she only a direwolf? Like Visenyx, she acts quite human_.

                After her curiosity was abated, she turned back to the wall ahead of her and turned the corner to wander off somewhere else within the castle grounds. Daeron rose to his feet and stumbled towards the crypt entrance. The way downward was nearly completely dark save for the lit torches in niches on either side of him. He took one from the wall and used it to light his way down the steps. On both sides of him were lined with statues of crouched direwolves that didn’t depict Ghost properly. Among the first tombs he sighted due to several lanterns, he saw her. Her dress, skirts and hood were all in sky blue coloring, though her dark curls spilled out over her face beneath her hood.

                She kneeled at a tomb before a seated statue of a woman and placed a wreath of blue winter roses atop it. Peering about, he saw that there were two rows of statues and tombs extending down a long hallway that wasn’t completely lit at the end. All of them were former lords of Winterfell and Kings of Winter; Most of whom carried steel blades either in their hands or laps. In fact, she knelt at the only likeness of a woman in the room. He could hear her whispering some words at the tomb but couldn’t make out what she said. He simply watched her for a bit and wondered if he had seen her appearance glamor over Jeyne Poole’s. He just couldn’t tell from her kneeling position. She finally looked up and towards the entrance to the crypts.

                Her breath caught in her throat and she dipped her head towards him. “Your Grace.”

                He said nothing and began walking closer. Slowly, she rose to her feet, pulling her arms close to her body within her bright blue cloak. Seeing her there, he realized that she was familiar to him. Jeyne Poole had appeared as her at times. Yet, none of that affected how he felt as he encountered her in the flesh. The way she stood, moved and even stood there was different than the Lady Steward. Jeyne Poole’s hair didn’t curl as Stark’s did; her eyes weren’t the dark, grey pools that hers were; her face wasn’t as angled and fierce. Her voice seemed clearer and stronger than the Lady Steward’s as well. He supposed most would say Jeyne Poole was prettier and Queen Sansa’s beauty put both of them to shame but Daeron wasn’t quite sure he would agree with any of that. He felt an odd comfort just being in front of her, as if he should’ve known her already.

                “It’s … you” he found it was all he could manage to say.

                Jeyne paused but gave the smallest smirk and nodded. “It’s me.”

 

               


	6. Absence of Being

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes places after the 1st chapter and is the last chapter of this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this will be the last chapter of this story. Although, I could get into the exact location and going ons of both the Dragonstone and Northern courts, I just wanted to focus mainly on Jeyne and Daeron for this last one. Most of Daeron's people are with him in the background or somewhere else in the North. Just so you know. Please, enjoy.

The turret was once Maester Luwin’s place of rest and study as well as his living quarters. Since the rebuild of Winterfell, the tower had mostly gone unused save for the new ravens since no maester had ever come to replace him. The ravens had been replenished by towers and castles from all over the North, all of which had been trained to fly from Winterfell to other places such as Oldtown. It was left to Jeyne Poole to send the letters since she had largely taken over the duties associated with their Citadel representative. That, however, wasn’t why she was in the tower then. She sat patiently outside of the bedchamber, trying as hard as everything to not hear what was happening inside. Standing across from her was Rakharo, who snorted and seemed to stare at some spot over her head with his arms crossed. She gave him an awkward smile but he paid her no mind, which only fed her discomfort.

                Under the covers, Jeyne’s sweat-slick legs crossed in a lock behind Daeron’s back and she stretched uncomfortably under his desperate grasp. She was lying in a decline while he bridged her by holding her body aloft by her lower back and hips. He worked hard in pulling her hard upwards into his grown from a kneeling position and enjoyed the feel of her grip on him immensely.

                “…change …” she sighed, running her hands through her hair.

                “What?” he gasped as he continued dragging her onto him.

                “Can we … change?”

                He stopped. He held her in place with a hand on her back while he wiped some of the sweat from his face. “You … want to change?”

                “Mmhmm” she murmured with a nod. She unlocked her legs from behind him and slid away from him.

                “You didn’t like it?” he asked.

                She was hesitant to answer and only leaned up to give him a soft kiss on the lips.

                “Just allow me …” She pulled him back on top of her before she rolled over on top of him and nipped his ear. “I want to ride you” she whispered to him. Her voice and warmth of her breath on his face sent a jolt throughout his body.

                She redrew the covers back over them both and straddled his hips.

                A smile on his lips was involuntary when she raised his head to place both of the feather pillows underneath him and packed them from the sides to enhance their fullness.

                “Comfortable?”

                “Yes” he said with a chuckle.

                She reached back and held him rod straight before she settled onto him. She had to close her eyes and sigh at the gradual filling and the sweet friction inside her. He looked up at her face, thinking that he had never seen her as more beautiful than in that moment. He would participate with her, rolling his hips in tandem with hers to enhance their penetration and tension within. His hands roamed all over her; her thighs, her hips, buttocks, the bones of her ribs, the edges of her stomach, the bottom of her breasts, basically anywhere that he could reach while her hands mostly lied statically on his chest. Neither of them had ever been very vocal in bed but their pleasure was usually apparent from their actions and the stops in their breathing. Their breathing was quite taxed and Jeyne became very frantic atop him in the session.

                Daeron squeezed his eyes shut and froze in struggle when she became particularly aggressive. “I’m … close” he uttered.

                She paid him no mind if she did hear him and smashed into him to the point of bouncing him.

                “Jeyne … I’m nearly there …” he told her as he slapped her thigh.

                “So good” was her only response as she went on.

                He reached down and tried to lift her off but she stymied his attempt by pressing downwards, falling towards his chest and locking her ankles under his.

                “Jeyne … stop it …”

                He forcibly turned the both of them so that he was on top and tried to retreat. “I have to finish …”

                “Inside … do it inside …”

                “No!”

                He tried to pull away and again she resisted. Their lovemaking quickly turned into a wrestling match. He struggled to pry her legs apart while he also pushed her hands away from his face.

                “Tell me … why … you won’t!”

They continued to push and pull at each other before he finally freed himself of her and pressed his weight down to keep her in place. It took no strokes and only a single touch for him to spill his seed on her left hip and thigh. He exhaled slowly as he came down from his pleasure. He leaned over her face as she turned away, avoidant of facing him with such intimacy after that.

                “What was _that_ about?” He wished to know.

                She slowly turned her head and pulled him down to her by the hair. Their kiss’s true purpose was to hide her light tears.

                After, she slid out of from under him to find something to wipe his seed from her leg. “You should leave. They will begin to wonder where you’ve gone.”

                Daeron knew she was right but he didn’t want to leave her in that state. She had told him that she was fine with their arrangement but she seemed to treat him with more and more hostility in their latest trysts. Perhaps her doubts had finally gotten to her.

                She had wet a towel in the water basin nearby and was wiping her leg of him.

                He still spoke to her back. “Are you alright?”

                She spoke over her shoulder in agitated tones. “I’m fine. I …” she sighed and didn’t finish that sentence. “We can’t do this anymore.”

                “I … don’t understand. You were so eager. You just told me …”

                “Don’t!” she cried out to cut him off. “I will not deny that it was … fun.”

                “Fun…?

                “We both know that it can’t go on. We knew what this was from the beginning. You’re marrying my sister. You have the North. It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?”

                Daeron swallowed and moved to gather his own clothing. “It is. I promise you, I will find you a good match. I will declare your honor with everything.”

                “I’m sure that you will.” she said in a sad voice. “You are a dutiful king. When it suits you.”

                He went on in silence and pulled on his smallpants.

               

                King Daeron left the maester’s chambers fully clothed in a black doublet, pantswear and his snow bear cloak.

                Jeyne Poole rose as when saw him and curtsied. “Your Grace.” She noticed that he had reapplied a masculine perfume.

                He dipped his head in response. “My lady.” 

                She exchanged looks with Rakharo before he followed the king down the steps.

                She went on inside the room.

                Jeyne sat on the edge of the bed and faced away from the door. She was fully dressed save for a coat and was adjusting the bust of her dress.

                “How much longer will this go on?” she asked her.

                “It won’t” Jeyne answered. “We’re done. I should’ve ended it a while ago.”

                “You should’ve never started it.”

                Jeyne prickled. “You’re right, of course.”

                Jeyne Poole walked over and worked with her striker over some candles.

                “What are you doing?”

                “I’m lighting candles and incense. The two of you produce a ripe smell. Mostly you, it seems.”

                Jeyne scoffed. “Don’t be crude.”

                “It is especially stuffy and hot in here as well because of you” she went on. “I must remember to open all the doors and unshutter windows.”

                “Enough!” Jeyne said with an involuntary smirk.

                The Lady Steward finished lighting her candles and sat next to the Hand.

                “I’m such a fool.” 

                Jeyne Poole reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s alright. It’s over, isn’t it?”

                Jeyne nodded.

                “Good. I’ve done my best to keep the household occupied. An occupied household has better things to do than gossip. But for your sake, you won’t be alone with the king again.”

                “I can account for myself.”

                “ _Jeyne_.”

                “Fine. Fine.”

                “And you’re no fool. King Daeron is a beautiful man. I would’ve rode him myself if he gave me the chance.”

                Jeyne turned and gave her disbelieving look and Jeyne Poole nodded.

                “Now, get up” she told her. “I have to send these covers out to be washed.”

 

               

“Bring more of that wet mortar!” shouted Pate from his platform at the Wall’s tear. “I want five cracks filled in by nightfall!”

                “Sure thing, Pate!” called out Halder from his nearby platform. He and his fellow builder worked at their roped winch to lower themselves hundreds of feet to the ground. That had become the focus of their work. The builders utilized wood, bronze and giants to construct winched platforms and climbing gear to attend to the crumbling Wall. Every few days or so, large chunks of ice would fall to the ground sometimes within the Castle Black gates. Some had been killed and injured in the falls. Rangers were no longer permitted beyond the Walls. Any who went beyond at that point were given up for lost. The new duties of rangers were patrols along the Wall’s interior; besides the hunt for wights and the other creatures, they watched for new patches in the ice. The Wall had stood strong for thousands of years so it was frightening to most that huge chunks had been falling with increasing rate over the past months.

                “Where is Wynn?” questioned an older watchman named Alleck all through the barracks. “Where is that boy?”

                “What for?” asked a boy stepping into a pair of boots.

                “Should mean nothing to you but it’s his shift atop the Wall.”

                The boy stopped and gave him a wary look. “Ain’t seen him.”

                “I have!” called somebody else.

               

                Two men, including Alleck, went down into the library. They found that a good amount of books had been strewn about and even a shelf had been partially knocked over. They found Wynn sitting on a pile, pointing a leather skin at them.

                “Did yoooouuu … come for me?” He was drunk, making exaggerated gestures towards them and flailing his skin around. “I … ain’t reeeallly …” he scratched his head and seemed to grow confused. “…what’s the … word … a-gain?”

                Alleck snorted, growing in fury. “ _Fit_.”

                “That’s it!” Wynn exclaimed. “Fiiit. For … watching… that is. Ugh.” He grunted and burped a bit, suddenly feeling ill.

                “Get up!” The other man rushed over and dragged him to his feet while Alleck yanked the skin from him. Alleck unstopped it and sniffed. It was much stronger than wine. He flung it away in anger while the other punched Wynn in the gut and stuffed his fingers down his throat to make him vomit.

 

               

Having spoken to King Daeron, Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Mace Tyrell and even more than them, Jeyne had come to accept the general conclusion. Lyanna Stark had not been kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen as she been led to believe her entire life. No, for some reason or another, she had gone to the man willingly. The two of them had isolated themselves; he had left his own wife, children, and subjects to the mercy of his mad father; she had abandoned and damned her father and brother to horrible deaths and drew the realm to conflict. For nearly a year, the two of them were unaccounted for; and for what? Some silly romance? Days prior, Jeyne had plucked a fresh half dozen winter roses from the glass garden and brought them in a watered vase in her aunt’s honor. They were wilted by that point, proven when she took one of the blackened rose stems from the dripping water. She looked up at her aunt Lyanna’s statue, a likeness seated in a throne-like chair next to her lord father Rickard with his first heir Brandon Stark on the other side of him. She was only a statue so her features weren’t clear though Jeyne had been told she resembled her in her youth. She had turned three and twenty, an age Lyanna never lived to see so she wasn’t sure how true that still was.

                She supposed a part of her loved her. She was a Stark and shouldn’t she love all Starks considering all of the loss? She supposed she should be forgiven. She was supposed to be fifteen when she went away with her prince. Jeyne herself had flowered at fourteen and she was sent to the Wall at fifteen; she had learned very harshly she wasn’t ready for some challenges at that age. How could a girl know what she was doing to that extent? She felt kinship with the child-woman and a common love for the beautiful winter rose. The whole ordeal ate at her so, that she often came to her tomb and prayed for her soul while also wondering why. Despite that, there were days where instead of attempted understanding and wonderment, there was bitter resentment. Jeyne wouldn’t dismiss the notion that she hated Lyanna on those days. She crumbled the wilted rose in her scarred right hand.

                She looked up at Lyanna once more. “You stupid girl.” It didn’t escape her that she could have just as easily been talking about herself. _No. I will not be like her_.

                Her attention was drawn by torchlight, echoing steps, and murmuring voices. She watched as the torch reached her. The closeness revealed it to be Littlefinger and her sister, the Queen.

                Jeyne immediately drew towards them. “ _You_!” she shouted at the Lord Protector of the Eyrie. “You don’t belong here!”

                He stepped away while Sansa quickly stepped between the two. She gave her a gentle push to halt her advance.

                “Jeyne, don’t! This is unseemly! You will apologize to the lord protector this instant!”

                Jeyne was stunned. “Your … Grace ...”

                He spoke up. “Your Grace, that really won’t be necessary.”

                “Sansa, how could you bring him here?”

                Sansa looked pointedly at her. “I do what I will. Leave us.”

                Jeyne opened her mouth to speak again.

                “Go.”

                Jeyne begrudgingly curtsied. “Your Grace.”

                She took her torch and left them.

               

                When she had gone, Sansa turned to Lord Baelish. “I’m so sorry for that. Please don’t think ill of her. She’s been through so much.”

                He raised a hand and looked after Jeyne momentarily. “Speak not of it, Your Grace. I understand. Shall we?”

                He led her down a ways past Lyanna, Rickard and Brandon Stark towards empty stands and stone chairs for future lords, kings or even queens.

                “I swear that if Winterfell stands through all of this” Sansa proclaimed with a pause. “There will be a place for my father in this place.”

                He nodded and said, “Of course. May there be a place for _you_ as well, long into the future. Long may the queen reign.”

                “When I marry Daeron, I will be dragged into his bid for the throne in King’s Landing. I’ll be obligated to support him in all matters. I might be expected to be entombed with him as well.” She stopped and looked around. “Not here.”

                He studied her under the torchlight. “If you were to outlive him, you could do whatever you wanted. You could rest wherever you wished.”          

                She sighed, knowing that he was scheming yet again. “Perhaps.”

                “Nobody can stand up to King Daeron’s armies, resources and dragons. Not while all others are decimated. Become his queen and all that is his will be yours as well. Your charms are undeniable. You’ll seduce him and those darling pets of his. Make him love you. Make _them_ love you. And when he’s gone, there will only be you and _them_. The queen of Westeros.”

                “You speak such sweet words. All this time and you’re still pushing my future. Where will you be in all of this?”

                He held his torch away and gently took her hand and drew in close. “By your side as always, my lovely queen. Though perhaps we should make a public alliance for appearance’s sake.”

                He moved in closer but she caught him by the jaw and held him at bay. She would not be kissed.

                “Not here” she told him. “My family wouldn’t approve.”

                He saw her eyes drift past him to her predecessors and could only smile. “That’s the thing about the dead, your Grace, they have no sway over the living.”

                Sensing her apprehension falter, he lurched forward and kissed her hard and passionately on the mouth.

 

                At the council chambers in the Great Keep, the present court of King Daeron as well as those advisors and witnesses of Queen Sansa convened to iron out the contract of marriage.

                Jeyne Poole was mediator and read from the drawn out document. “The Throne at Dragonstone has sworn to provide fifty long tons of dragonglass and twenty thousand gold dragons in bridewealth to the Seat in Winterfell, to be delivered in increments to be discussed further; And full efforts of arms and strategy to combat the immediate and future threats to the Seat in Winterfell and the North; And recognize the second heir of the union to be named to the seat of Winterfell and be named Stark. The Seat in Winterfell has sworn to provide all arms, resources and strategy to the ongoing war efforts and advancement of the Throne at Dragonstone; Have sworn a dowry of forty thousand gold dragons; and promised a heir named Targaryen to the Throne.” She read out a great many new things including the parameters of their new kingdom and the nature of their rule. Neither would be consort; it would be a shared and equal rule between the two of them.

                When it was done, Jeyne Poole called forth the King and Queen to place their signatures and royal stamps to the document. Daeron stood before it first but paused before taking the pen from the inkwell. He lowered his head.

                “Everybody leave the room. I must speak to the Queen in private.”

                There was hesitation. Everybody had expected the two of them to sign; the alliance was the best for all involved and their courts seemed to mesh well. There was also the outset that should have motivated them.

                “A king has given you a command” Sansa said to them. “I’d advise that you heed it. Out. All of you.”

                Quickly, they all ushered out of the room; each of them had their own comments and reservations on the matter.

                Once they were finally cleared out and only a king and queen were alone in the room over the table and document, the queen finally addressed him.

                “What is it?”

                He leaned over the table and braced himself with his hands on either side of the document. Finally, he looked up at her.

                Those who remained in the hallway outside their door included Jeyne Stark, Jeyne Poole, Petyr Baelish, Rakharo, Jhogo and Aggo, Victarion Greyjoy and others. None could hear the entire conversation save for parts.

                “You should have told me!” they heard her shout. Some more muffled, agitated conversation followed after that. “Why -?!” It went on for a while until Daeron emerged from the room and wordlessly went on without a look back. His court present quickly followed.

                Sansa stood in the doorway. She gestured to Jeyne Poole, Jeyne Stark and Petyr Baelish. “The three of you come in here. The rest of you, leave me.” She ushered them inside and vehemently gestured for the others to leave. Her requested few went in before her.

                “Your Grace” they offered to her when she joined them. She ignored them and pulled their contract from the table. She crumpled it up and flung it into the fire. “Lot of good that did.”

                Jeyne Poole was confused. “…Is the betrothal … off, your Grace?”

                Sansa’s face was wild with fury and the lady steward didn’t know if that anger was for her or whatever the situation was. Sansa half-turned and seemed to resolve herself before she looked back to them with renewed grace.

                “No” the queen answered. “Our betrothal is still in effect. We will have to draft a new contract, however.” She shifted her focus to her sister and stepped towards her. “Lord Baelish. Our arrangement will need to be shifted forward. Immediately.”

                Petyr nodded. “Understood, your Grace.”

                Sansa reached Jeyne and placed her hands on her shoulders tenderly.

                Jeyne was puzzled at everything. “Your Grace, I don’t undersand …”

                Sansa broke in. “I am your Queen, sister, and more than that, I am the Wolf’s head. I am the head of our House.” She reached up and held Jeyne by the head in both hands. She briefly brushed her wavy curls with her fingers; these were all signs of affection to soften what she was going to say. “As such, there are things that I command that you must obey. Because we are loyal. And we love each other.”

                “Sister …”

                “Promise me, Jeyne. Promise that you will obey me.”

                “I … promise. I promise.”

                “You will marry Lord Robert Arryn as soon as possible. There will be a bedding. There must.”

                “Your Grace …”

                “Just listen!” Sansa’s hold on Jeyne’s hair tightened for a moment before she relaxed. Tears began to form in her eyes. “Forgive me. But you must bed Robert. He is weak. And churlish. And unworthy of you. But he is Lord of the Vale. You must be gentle with him but he must get you with child. You must have two sons. One will be my heir and one will be yours.”

                “Why? You and Daeron …”

                “The king cannot have children. He is sterile.”

                Jeyne Poole almost stumbled while standing still at hearing that. Petyr rubbed his mouth because it was all he could do to keep from bursting out in laughter.

                Sansa lowered her hands back to Jeyne’s shoulders.

                Jeyne shook her head in disbelief. “It cannot be.”

                “He is. He just told me. But Petyr and I have discussed a match between you and Robert before.”

                “Petyr …?”

                “I mean, Lord Baelish. Our arrangement had already been made, only it is now moving forward with much more urgency. It is advantageous for both of our houses. The Vale is strong and secure. And you will be safe there.”

                “Safe …? You want me to go to the Vale?”

                “Yes. Immediately after the wedding. You will journey and remain there until this is finished.”

                “But my place is here. The Free Folk. Our men and women. They all look to me.”

                “They must follow _me_ now. I am their Queen. You are no warrior, Jeyne. I will see you safely to the Vale. For you and your children’s sake. _You_ are the future of the entire realm now. Do this, Jeyne. For Stark and the love you have for me.”

               

                Jeyne was in the courtyard beside Ghost, looking up into the cloudy sky. Usually the sun was in the veil of white whenever it did appear though some days would come and go without her seeing it at all. She was to leave this place and go to the Vale. Perhaps the mountains would change things. Jeyne leaned forward and buried her face in a coat of white fluff. Ghost turned her head and nuzzled her human’s back with her snout.

                “The two of you are quite close, aren’t you?”

                Still holding onto Ghost, she turned her face back to Daeron. He wore a crimson doublet with a black cape bearing his sigil that day. Beneath the cape the pommel of Blackfyre, his ancestral greatsword, was visible; he wore it across his back whenever possible ever since he retrieved it from the Golden Company.

                “She and I are halves of the same soul.”

                “If that’s true then she should love me well.” He approached slowly but purposely.

                “Careful” she turned on him, concerned. Her wary eyes shifted about.

                “You worry too much. You are my goodsister, are you not? It isn’t odd that we are seen together.”

                “You can’t have children.” She could find no graceful way to broach it so she just said it. “How could you not tell me that?”

                “I didn’t think it mattered. Did it?”

                She patted Ghost’s neck. “Perhaps it did.”

                Ghost shook away from Jeyne’s grasp and sauntered over to Daeron. Daeron stilled with a tiny bit of fear but relaxed when Ghost began to lick his face. He laughed and reached up to scratch her neck.

                Jeyne shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

                After a bit more scratching, Ghost stepped forward and laid her heavy head over the king’s shoulder, allowing him to get to her breast and left foreleg. He could feel a rumbling in her throat and she visibly relaxed. Jeyne chafed watching this; Ghost was clearly enjoying herself. This was the second time she had shown preferential treatment to somebody else before her.

                “Traitor” she muttered.

                Afterwards, Ghost stepped away and strafed around Daeron as if in a hunt. Perhaps the scariest thing about Ghost was that she was nearly as quick as an ordinary wolf and was just as prone to their habits. Of course, she was many times stronger; the last time she had played the arm tugging game with Jeyne she had been much smaller and had nearly pulled her arm out of its socket. She would very likely take her arm _off_ at her current size.

                Ghost bounded around Daeron and caught his cape in her jaws. With a yank, she dragged Daeron off of his feet through the snow.

                “Aghk!” Daeron coughed as flurries splashed down over his person. She easily dragged him backwards through the snow like a horse pulling its wheelhouse. He was at the mercy of a true beast.

                Jeyne shouted out to them. “Ghost! No! Your Grace! Your cape! Take it off!”

                He was dragged around for a bit longer as he struggled a bit more with his clasps. Eventually, he undid them and slid to a stop while Ghost hopped around with the cape in her teeth. She stopped to shake it back and forth rapidly, apparently getting vast entertainment out of this. Jeyne rushed forth and helped Daeron, whom still watched the direwolf, to his feet.

                She brushed snow off of him. “Your Grace! Are you alright?”

                To her amazement, he began laughing. “That was exhilarating!”

                “Exhilarating? She could have killed you.”

                “I know! Do you know how many times I’ve been nearly killed? It would surprise you.”

                “You’re being so odd.” She shook her head in disbelief. “What’s wrong with you today?”

                The two of them looked at Ghost whom had dropped his torn cape in the snow and squatted over it. Their mouths fell open when she drowned it in thick flows of urine that were expelled quite forcefully.

                “Ghost!” she exclaimed.

                He laughed again.

                “I’m sorry! She doesn’t usually behave like this!”

                “It’s fine! I’ll take it as meaning that she approves of me.” He turned to look at her and the smile faded from his lips. “I want to kiss you right now.”

                She looked right back with wide eyes. “You _can’t_.”

                “I know. But I want it.”

                “Sorry to interrupt” called out an approaching Lord Petyr Baelish with three Vale guardsmen flanking him as he looked at Ghost beyond them, “whatever this is, Your Grace” he made sure to bow towards Daeron, “but my Lord Robert has requested an audience with his bride to be, the Lady Jeyne Stark. May I accompany you to his chambers, my lady?”

                Jeyne froze but came to the conclusion that it would be for the best to meet with the boy. “As you wish, Lord Baelish.”

                “I will accompany her as well” Daeron spoke up. All present looked to him with surprise.

                “Your Grace, forgive me” Lord Baelish said politely, “but that surely won’t be necessary.”

                “I will also take the opportunity to meet this Lord of the Vale. I should get to know all of my lords, I think.”

                Lord Baelish still seemed unconvinced and opened his mouth to say something.

                Jeyne jumped in. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to be alone with my husband-to-be before we are wed. I would feel much more comfortable with my goodbrother present.”

                A smirk formed on Lord Baelish’s face. “My Lady, he is still a _boy_. You have nothing to fear, I assure you. And _I_ will be there if you are truly uncomfortable.”

                Jeyne turned her chin up at this. “With all due respect, Lord Baelish, I don’t like you.”

                Lord Baelish could only smile wider. The smug look on his face only made Jeyne dislike him more.

                “And I shouldn’t have to say this but His Grace is king. You cannot deny him.”

                “It’s funny that you say that, goodsister” Daeron said with a growing smirk of his own, “I was just going to say it myself.”

                Lord Baelish could only shut his eyes and bow for his apologies.

 

                Little Lord Robert Arryn, still called Sweetrobin by his maids as he requested, was quartered in the top chambers of Jeyne Poole’s guest tower for high standing visitors. He was in bed and in a sickly state as he often was, only it was even worse in the North. Two maids were at hand, one of which was feeding him a hot soup as Jeyne entered.

                “It’s too hot, stupid!” He berated her as he leaned away and covered his mouth. “Stupid! You should blow on it first!”

                The maid meekly blew on another spoonful of it and leaned down to feed down to Robert.

                “No!” he cried out. “I don’t want it anymore! Bring me sorbet!”

                “My Lord” the maid protested, “sorbet will not go well with your illness. Please have the soup.”

                “Do what I say or I will kill you, you stupid girl!”

                Jeyne turned to Lord Baelish with astonishment. “Are you going to-?” she said to him a low voice.

                He leapt into action. “My dear girls, please pardon my lord” He gently took the bowl of soup from them and set it on the table, “he is very tired and sick as you know.” Robert went into a coughing fit and spit some phlegm into a mostly used towellette that he had on hand. Lord Baelish gently guided the maids out. “I’ll see that he eats the soup but please stand near while we discuss things with his betrothed.”

                “Yes, Lord Protector” one of them said as he opened the door for them and let them out into the hallway. Jeyne and Daeron exchanged glances before she approached the center of the room.

                “My lord, I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced” Jeyne said to him in an even tone as she curtsied. “I’m –“.

                “I know who you are” he said. “You’re mine.” The words gave her pause. He seemed to look her over with his big, sullen, watery blue eyes. “You’re not as pretty as Alayne, though. Nobody is.”

                “Alayne?”

                Lord Baelish returned from the doorway. “Alayne is the name we had for our dear queen when she was the target of every eye and sword the Lannisters could buy. Our dear Lord Robert still prefers that name to her real one.”

                “She is Alayne!” He began coughing. “She shouldn’t have changed! I forbade it!”

                Jeyne tried to be gentle but firm. “My Lord, her _name_ is Your Grace or Queen –“

                “Her name is Alayne!” He stopped and pointed at Daeron. “And _he_ took her from me.”

                Jeyne gave Daeron an apologetic look before addressing Robert. “My lord, this is His Grace, King Daeron. A king. It isn’t proper to refer to him that way.”

                “Hmph. At the Vale, there is nobody above me.”

                Daeron stepped forward beside her. “You don’t look well, Lord Robert. Perhaps this isn’t a good time for a visit. Lady Jeyne and I will leave you to your rest.”

                “So you’ll take _her_ from me as well? I won’t allow it. Come to me, lady. I called for you.”

                Jeyne looked to Daeron. “It’s fine.” She stepped close to her little lord.

                Tears fell down Robert’s cheeks but he didn’t seem to notice. “You’re _old_. And plain. But you’ll do for me. This place is too cold and it makes me sick. When I make you mine, we’ll leave for home immediately. You will leave your monster behind. All monsters stay here. I have maids that please me with their hands and mouth. You will do that now. The Eyrie is beautiful and safe. Much better than this place. You will love it. You will love me and do what I say.”

                Jeyne opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. Daeron could see a slight shake to her and gently pulled her away and stood next to him in her place.

                “I myself would like to see it, Lord Robert” Daeron said. “I’ve always heard that The Eyrie is impregnable and seated closest to the Heavens. I’d like to visit it.”

                “W-well it is and t-they are but still I wouldn’t like you to bring those monsters-“

                “Perhaps we should exchange vows right here and now. I am king and you are lord. I will never trespass on your domain and overstay my welcome. And I won’t bring my dragons, all if you promise never to mistreat Lady Stark.”

                “W-well that …”

                Daeron easily slid his longsword from his back scabbard and flung it down with force above Lord Robert’s lap. Everybody in the room flinched and even Lord Baelish covered his mouth to keep a rather unmanly sound from escaping very far from his lips. Robert himself gave a loud cry and bounced back against his headboard.

                “Please, no!” he cried as he cowered and squeezed his eyes shut.

                “Lord Robert” Daeron said to him. “I had only wished to show you one of my treasures. This is Blackfyre.”

                Robert’s guards had their spears tipped toward Daeron in preparation to strike though the king didn’t seem to notice this.

                “He is King” Jeyne said loudly. “Put those down unless you wish to answer for it. Your lord is unharmed.”

                They looked uncertain and looked to Lord Baelish for guidance, who nodded. “Do as she says.” He rubbed his forehead shakily himself. They settled down and went back to their original positions.

Meekly, Robert looked down and saw that Daeron brought the sword to a halt horizontally above his lap in one swing.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you, lord.”

“I am Lord of the Vale. I don’t frighten.”

Daeron nodded. “My apologies. This is Blackfyre, my ancestral sword. Notice the polished sheen and rubied pommel. The dark hue to the blade. It is Valyrian steel. There aren’t many like it left in the world.”

Robert liked the swirls of black throughout the shiny steel. He had to admit its beauty. He reached out to touch it.

“Careful” Daeron warned him. “It’s sharp.”

Pausing, Robert avoided the edge and caressed its flat side.

“It’s warm” he remarked.

“I do have the knowledge and the means to forge another” Daeron continued. “Would you like one of your own?”

Lord Baelish was eager to decline. “We humbly thank you for your gesture, Your Grace, but we wouldn’t to –“

“Quiet, Petyr!” Lord Robert shouted. “Nobody asked you!” He looked back down to the blade and up to Daeron. “I could have one? I really, truly could?”

“Yes” Daeron assured. “And when I visit, I could bring the Queen with me. Queen Alayne.”

“Will you?”

“Perhaps we could bring a dragon after all. I could let you ride one. Wouldn’t you like that? Wouldn’t you like to fly? Like the Winged Knight?”

Robert’s eyes grew bigger and more watery than ever. “Could I?”

“Of course” the king said with a nod.

Jeyne didn’t pay attention to much more of it. She was still lost in her own thoughts.

 

When she and the king came down from the tower, they came to a rest outside in the yard. Ghost was gone by then, off resting or hunting as far she knew. She looked ahead of her in a daze, not taking in anything from the home she knew most of her life.

“You deserve more than that,” Daeron said to her from behind. “More than this, as well.” He placed his left hand on her right shoulder, caressing her collarbone through her fur and dress. He remembered holding both of her collarbones in such a way before and wanted to do it again. “I’m sorry.”

She slid out of his grasp and turned on him. “How could you know what I deserve? Do you know everything I’ve ever done?”

Daeron was more than a little surprised at her sudden hostility. “I … am only saying that you are worth so much more.”

“I am not a child. I do not –“

“Fine. Fine.”

“—need _you_ to tell me my worth!”

He went silent and let her seethe.

“I apologize, Your Grace” she said after a few moments. “I beg your forgiveness but please do not follow me.”

She hurried away from him to her own tower. Neither of them had noticed Lord Baelish watching from a window above.

               

                She found Asha and Val at her table laughing over big mugs of black beer.

                “Oh, look who the wolves brought back home” Val said with a smirk.

                “Do you want one?” asked Asha with a raise of her mug.

                “No, I’m fine.”

                “How odd. I wouldn’t think _you_ could turn down a good mug of beer” commented Val.

                She sat down with them regardless.

                “Would you like anything, my Lady?” asked one of her serving girls.

                “Some iced water, please.” The girl was off to accommodate her.

                Asha looked at Jeyne. “Did you know this wanton wildling was humping one of the Dragon King’s guards?”

                “Truly?” Jeyne asked Val.

                “He’s not a _guard_ ” Val told them. “He’s a _bloodrider_. They’re as close as brothers. It’s Rakharo. He’s a fierce warrior. Dark, powerful and _big_. By the gods, he’s the man I’ve always wanted. Curse the timing, though. I wanted to learn his native tongue. We could really have had a time together.” 

                Asha had a pull of beer and urged her on. “Go on, tell her.”

                The serving girl brought Jeyne a large cup of water with ice chips in it. She thanked her.

                Val flicked her honey blonde hair from her shoulders and acted as if she wasn’t proud to tell the tale to somebody else. “I stole him much like I did my Jarl. I watched him for a while. He came with the king but he doesn’t spend much time with him here. He’s always off hunting with his blood brothers. He’s the quiet one among them but the strongest yet, I could tell even then. I stalked after them like Ghost after those doe we caught her tearing into so many times.  I pretended to be out hunting on my own and finally he was off on his own in the woods. A good hunt takes time, my girls. Days, even. When I had my chance, I put my knife to his throat and walked him farther out from Winterfell. I let him know that I would either stick him or he would stick me. He stuck _me_. Three times that first day right where we stopped. He’s been in my bed every night since and some days as well. Gods … are … good.”

                Asha laughed and they touched mugs. Jeyne was at a loss for words. Val was Free Folk but she was so beautiful and desired and had real opportunity. She had turned down so many others and could have become a lady with some real standing, lands and benefits for her people. Rakharo was close to the King but she wasn’t sure what Rakharo could offer her besides his strength. Perhaps that was all she wanted but was that enough for a good match? Jeyne had to wonder.

                “Do you love him?” Jeyne asked.

                Val eventually ceased in her outward joy. “What?”

                “Do you love him?” Jeyne repeated herself.

                Val gave a bewildered look to Asha, who scoffed herself. Val didn’t like the question. “ _Love_? What is this love? Why do you southrons have to overcomplicate these things?”

                “I’m just confused. A lord with a castle and farmlands could desire you right now. All of that would be yours. That won’t happen if you’re attached.”

                “If they won’t fight for me, they’re not worthy of me.”

                “You’ve been here for far too long to not realize that’s not how it works here. You’re the outsider this time, not me. I’m saying this as your friend.”

                Val scoffed and had another pull.

Jeyne didn’t stop. “Understand. I am only saying … that you have an opportunity to make … a diplomatic advantage for your Folk.”

                “By whoring myself?”  
                “No. That’s not what I mean … and that’s not even what it is.”

                “Like your sister whored you.”

                Jeyne stopped and glared at her. “How dare you say that to me? My sister doesn’t whore me. She honors me with a match.”

                “A match with a weak boy who couldn’t steal anyone. Ygren would’ve ripped his guts out through his ass. But worry not. We know who really drives the blood to your cunt”, she reached over and stroked Jeyne’s resting fingers, “don’t we, goodsister?”

                Jeyne pulled away and shot up from the table, holding a glare as if she had heard enough. Val leaned back casually in her chair with a sneer on her lips.

                Asha laughed uncomfortably and tried to keep the peace. “Come now, you two … this is unseemly. We’re friends. Fuck all the others. We tough bunch ought to stick together.”

                “Worry not, Asha” Val assured her. “Our Lady Jeyne is no fighter anymore. She knows that she could never beat me at anything. She would rather bed a weakling and run to her fancy new castle with her tail between her legs while we all stay here and die.” She turned her attention back to Jeyne. “Well, come on then. Fight me if you got the guts. I haven’t smacked you around in a while and I’ve been rarin’ to bloody that smug face for too long now.”

                 Jeyne picked up her cup and looked away. “I’ll be up in my chambers. Don’t disturb me.”  

                Jeyne left them and went up her steps while Asha turned to Val. She raised her hands in dissent and slapped the table.

                When Jeyne opened her door, she found Melisandre at her fireplace reading a book from her rocking chair. At her entrance, the priestess momentarily shifted her focus to her.

                “Alright” Jeyne acquiesced. “Fine.”

 

               

“Lord Commander” Satin called as he dropped a stack of letters and decrees on the desk before him, “it’s getting worse. You’d really better come outside.”

                Eddison Tollett leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his thinning, grey hair. “I will lose the rest of my hair. Will that satisfy you, Satin? Hmm? Well, will the Others finally break through before you tell me the problem?”

                “The next shift on the Wall” Satin explained, “they refuse to assume their posts. There’s a crowd forming.”

                The Lord Commander sighed and rose from his chair. He took up his sword and placed it into its sheath.

 

                The crowd outside of the barracks had grown much larger by then. There was so much shouting that no one voice was decipherable; it was absolute chaos at that point. Two beaten, shouting men were lifted above the heads of the crowd and forcibly carried towards the winches. Inside the barracks, the last of the strugglers was half-naked and bleeding. He swung an edged sword wildly before his body, forcing his fellow brothers to stay away. The ones in the forefront dodged back from his swings.

                “Fuck you!” he shouted. “Fuck all of ya’s!”

               

                The Lord Commander stepped down from his tower steps to find Tormund already waiting for him.

                “Har! You lot have really blundered this time!” the boisterous old Folk practically shouted in his face. “Can’t even get a few squeaks up on that Wall O’ yours! They turned coward!”

                “Odd you say that, Tormund. Do you volunteer for the job?”

                “You don’t want me up there, lad. My ax best serves you right here. I am Deathsbane.”

                “I thought you were Giantsbane?”

                “I could be Watchbane if you wish.”

                “Never mind.” Edd turned back to the crowd. “Pardon, Tormund, I have to deal with this mess. Wouldn’t want them to cast me aside. Oh right, that actually _is_ what I want.”

                Those who refused to go on shift were thrown nearly naked into the freezing ice cells with little more than a heavy blanket each. They were replaced by several reluctant brothers, some of which were Free Folk come over to the Watch.

               

“I better not see you hiding by the fire! You are to keep _Watch_!”

“Oi! Are you calling me coward now?”

The men were loaded in winches in groups and sent to their respective points up top. One such man had put on a brave face down below but watcher duty was a different matter altogether. He didn’t voice these fears since he didn’t want to appear weak like those who went to great lengths to avoid their duties. Those kind were never treated quite the same again. Still, when the sun went down and night came, he knew his true test began. He remembered his first shift after they came, he had pissed his breeches just looking at them. Far more had come since then, yet he tried to remain strong.

Below him were seas of blue orbs of light in the dark, stretching out seemingly forever; a second eerier night sky below his feet. If one didn’t know any better, they might’ve been entranced by a second set of earthly stars but he knew them for what they were. Eyes. They were tens of thousands of glowing eyes. Some of them were much higher than others and he even knew what those were; giants and gigantic beasts that hadn’t been south of the Wall for more than a thousand years and were the things of nightmares. All of them stared up at him. They never wavered. They never blinked. They just waited. He remembered that there used to be great fires the Free Folk lit in the villages and settlements beyond; he would even take comfort in that. Not anymore. There was nothing but darkness and them.

He heard a terrible cracking and a mass of shouting from his side of the Wall. He left his post momentarily to have a look. Another brother had done the same.

“What happened?” One asked the other.

They peered down and one of the unmanned burnt towers had collapsed under the weight of shattered stone. A mass of dark objects they knew to be people were swiftly forming around it. They then realized that it wasn’t stone at all; it was ice.

“The Wall is crumbling more and more every day! Too fast for us to fix it! And more of _them_ keep showing up! What is Queen Sansa _doing_? She has to help us!”

“Seven help us all.”

 

Jeyne fell to her knees in the snow during the dark of night. She had long ago begged the old gods’ forbearance for her past misdeeds and it had brought to her that point. She prayed before the godswoods’ heart tree for Winterfell’s survival, her sister, and her family’s future. Her final thoughtful prayer she saved for King Daeron’s wellbeing.

 _Please keep him safe, my gods_.

She heard crunching steps in the snow behind her. It was so quiet that every little sound was focused and amplified. She knew that Ghost was near and watching her so she wasn’t frightened though the presence of another gave her alarm.

“Who goes there?” she asked sharply while reaching for her lantern.

“It is I, my Jeyne” he said, approaching with a lantern of his own.

“Daeron?” she asked, turning to him in disbelief.

“Yes.” He went to her and pulled her close.

She felt his hand slink around and grasp her lower back just above her hips. She was highly conscious and sensitive of that spot and he knew that. _Damn_ him, she thought. Still, she didn’t push him away.

“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.

“I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t slept well since our last time together. I can’t stop thinking about it. So I thought to come see you to have a talk. I didn’t want to wait. Some of my men intended to accompany me, of course. I had to threaten them to stay. Multiple times.”

“Did they follow you?” She tried to look beyond him.

“No. Nobody followed me.”

“How do you know?”

“ _Jeyne_. Nobody followed me.”

“Fine. How did you find me?”

“Ah. I saw Ghost. Who sort of … led me here.”

“Fucking Ghost.”

He moved his hand to her cheek near her mouth. “There’s that tongue again, Jeyne. It will get you into trouble.”

“You’re wrong. _I’m_ the trouble.”

He scoffed and leaned down to share a series of short, gentle kisses between their lips.

She then leaned up against him, cheek to cheek and whispered into his ear. “Let that be the last of it. I mean it. You’re already in my heart. That’ll never go away. Isn’t that enough?”

She fell back from him and he saw that tears were falling down her cheeks. “I can’t believe it. I actually _am_ my aunt Lyanna. I came to a place that I dread with every ounce of my being to pray for _you_! I think – no … I’m in love with you, Daeron Targaryen!” She covered her mouth and began laughing.

“Jeyne—“

She stopped and raised a hand. “But we can’t be together. My sister is queen and I have a duty. Either way, our love would burn out, I’m sure. We would butt heads. We’re both stubborn. Set in our ways. You’re a beautiful man. Far prettier than me. I could never keep your interest. You would have others, I’m sure, and there’s nothing wrong with that! But I couldn’t take it. So, you see? Best to end it now while we have good memories.”

She stepped back and away out of his light and turned away. “It’ll be better this way. We’d do best to be goodbrother and sister, now. Goodbye, Daeron.” The tears were steadily falling then and she cursed her emotions for them.

He dropped his lantern and rushed for her. In the dark, he fumbled with her from behind and wrapped an arm around her waist and the other over her chest where his hand gripped her left shoulder. She struggled against him momentarily but he only pulled her tighter into him.

“Daeron, don’t make this harder –“

“I never wanted this.”

“Us?” she asked him with a sniffle.

“The _throne_ ” he corrected her. “The crown. I never wanted any of it. Everything I’ve done … Every battle I won … Every one I lost … the alliances I made and the enemies I crushed … all of it was my only way to survive.” He gripped her tighter and went on with a bit of anger and grief in his voice. “I _hate_ my life. I drink and fuck and dull my senses with whatever drug I can get my hands on. Anything to escape the pain. But the people. A hundred thousand of them. All of them are counting on me. Counting on their king to unite the realm and find a place for them in these lands. How could I tell them that I always mourn what could have been? That I would rather be far away from here, in a place without violence? You are the only thing I’ve wanted in a very long time. I will never grow tired of you. There is nobody else in this world but you. So, please don’t tell me we are finished. Come away with me, tonight. I will find a home for us. Away from all of this. A place of peace.”

She said nothing and the only sounds she heard were their breaths.

“Is there such a place?” she asked.

“We’ll find it.”

She shifted in his arms and he allowed her to face him where she looked up into his face. Their dropped lanterns only illuminated their general forms to each other and not the smaller details. They were mostly shadows. She reached up to move strands of hair from his face so that she could see more of it. He put on a better show than her but he seemed to be silently crying as well. They gave little sad smiles to each other.

“I can’t do it, Daeron. I just … can’t. I cannot abandon the North. I love it as I do you but the North comes first. I’m sorry, love. I can’t save you.”

“So you’ll marry that child? That invalid?”

“As you’ll marry my sister. Because those people are counting on you to find them lands. Now, let me go.”

“Jeyne … I won’t.”

Jeyne found herself being pushed and almost dragged backwards in the snow. She knew firsthand how physically powerful he was but the momentum with which he moved still took her by surprise. She felt the ice slide beneath her boots and knew they were at the heart tree. She reached out and braced herself against the bark. She felt his breath on her neck that made her shiver more than the cold and then that was followed by his lips, tongue and teeth. His hands were all over her and blindly so as they had even less light than they had before. She felt a hand roughly grabbing at her chest and gasped as it trailed lower and lower. In desperation, she shoved it down between her legs but over her skirts. Just this single action destroyed whatever inhibition she had left and she groaned into his mouth in response; he showed his impatience when he yanked her skirts up. She heard fabric ripping and tearing as he yanked away unnecessary pieces of the underclothes and hose impeding his way to her. The very act of what they were doing made her blood boil; she was so hot that she didn’t feel the cold. She entwined his bare fingers with her own and guided them to her bare sex. Before long, both of theirs were warmed and wet.

The two of them slid to their knees where they worked his trousers open as well.

“We can’t do this” she groaned into his ear.

Without answer, he turned her around and threw her skirts upwards again. She gave no active resistance and actually reached down between her legs behind her to guide him into her. He drove into her with so much vigor that she pitched forward and allowed her upper body to be swallowed by the heart tree. Her nails clawed the inside of the frozen bark as he surged and twisted inside her. She was laid bare before her old gods; a new form of prayer.

_You gods will have to forgive me later. I love this man._

For a moment, her skin felt flushed and light; her vision clouded and everything numbed. There was nothingness. When she next became aware, he had pulled her out of the tree and sat her on his lap. He rubbed her all over while she was regaining her feeling when she grabbed his hands and bring them up to her mouth so that she could kiss them; she could smell and taste her own sour musk on them but she didn’t mind. She bit down hard on the hand he used to rub her mouth but he betrayed no signs of pain at that.

“Are you crying?” he asked her, having felt the tears running down her face.

She didn’t answer at first.

“ _Jeyne_.”

“ _No_.” she said with an ill-disguised sob.

He turned her head towards him and touched his forehead to her cheek. She let loose some held-back shuddering breaths and the two rested there sprinkled in sweat but clouded in steam. That familiar warm feel of his seed inside her made itself known to her; it was so hot that it threatened to singe her inside but she was comforted in his closeness all the same.

 

 

Daeron looked at that very same heart tree where he spent some blissful and painful time some three days earlier, only this time it was in the broad daylight and he did so with a deep pit in his stomach. He stood with his betrothed queen and two dozen others. The ceremony was delayed to the great distaste of most there. A groom rushed over to the gathering and stumbled on his way to the queen.

“Well!” Queen Sansa shouted at him. “Where is she?”

“It’s cold!” shouted Robert Arryn, whom was bundled in so many furs and coats that he didn’t actually feel anything and was held standing by two guards. “I’m tired of waiting!”

They all attended the heart tree to witness Jeyne and Robert’s wedding. They even had a few freezing players and singers to liven up the frosty occasion. Yet, the bride was late for the ceremony.

                “I’m sorry, my queen!” the groom kneeled before her in the snow. “She refuses to come out! She wishes to speak to you and only you!”

                “This is unacceptable!” Sansa shouted down at him in fury. “I commanded you to bring her to me!”

                The groom cowered further into the snow. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace!”

                “Ugh!” Sansa looked back to the others. “My gathered patrons and guests! I apologize for my sister’s rude tardiness. I will beg the old gods’ forgiveness for her. Pray excuse me, please stay a while longer yet; I will retrieve my sister and have her wed our Lord Robert.”

                “Allow me to bring her for you, my queen.” Offered a member of the Norrey clan.

                That would be too impersonal for Sansa’s taste.

                “I thank you but no” Sansa gently but firmly declined. “I thank you _all_ , and again I apologize, but she is my responsibility. Please, excuse me. I will bring her shortly.”

                To their protests, she lifted her skirts and trudged her way through the snow towards the keep. Knights and guards dogged her step though some confused guests remained behind including the betrothed lord and his lord protector. Daeron and his bloodriders were some of those that followed as well.

                They found Jeyne seated in her rocking chair before the fire in her tower room; a bear fur was lain over her lap where she strummed a lazy melody to “The Night That Ended” on a harp. When Sansa approached, she flattened her palm on the strings and stopped them.

                “What are you doing” Sansa questioned her. “You’re late! Get up and get dressed, now! They’re waiting on us!”

                Jeyne looked up at her with glassy-eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

                “You should be sorry. Now, come.”

                She said nothing but set her harp down and stood, allowing the blanket slip down from her legs.

                Sansa’s eyes dropped to the small ruby hanging from the gold bracelet on her left wrist. Jeyne reached down and yanked the ruby off .

                Gradually, Jeyne’s features shifted; her skin began to brighten and pale; her hair grew lighter and straightened from its previous waviness; her eyes darkened and her hips, arms and general bone structure became slight and narrower. Jeyne Stark was becoming Jeyne Poole before their very eyes. 

                “Again, I’m so sorry, Your Grace.”

                “But … I saw you. I saw … both of you … how?”

                “I was Jeyne Stark and somebody else was me.”

                “Who?”

                Jeyne Poole was noticeably silent. She wouldn’t say.

                “Where is Melisandre?”

                Jeyne shook her head. “I don’t know.”

                She flinched as Sansa was on her in seconds. The queen slapped her twice and left her stumbling.

                A few of the guards flinched as well but none moved to interfere. Even Daeron was conflicted in watching them. It wasn’t his place and they weren’t married as of yet. He didn’t wish to worsen things.

                “Where is she?” Sansa asked her. “I told you things would go bad!” She pulled the Lady Steward down hard to the ground and dragged her towards the fireplace by her hair. Jeyne didn’t fight her but grunted as she reached up to brace herself against further violence.

                “Where is my sister?” Sansa demanded of her as she held her face close to the heat of the fire.

                “Sansa!” Daeron shouted as he stepped forward. “ _Don’t_!”

                Sansa looked up at him wide-eyed as she clutched Jeyne. She looked almost crazed. “You _dare_ , beloved? She lied to us! Misled us for days! Jeyne is out there all alone! In danger!”

                “Arrest her” Daeron told her. “We’ll have her questioned. Don’t do _this_. It’s unbecoming. We’re better than this.”

                After some consideration, Sansa shoved Jeyne away from the fireplace.

                “Seize her!” she shouted to her guards. “Take her down to the cells! Make her look at the wights! I want her to see what I think of her!”

                The guards came forth and yanked Jeyne to her feet. She didn’t fight them and kept her eyes downcast. Sansa stood and shouted after her.

                “Jeyne, you’re finished! Do you hear me? You’re dead to me!” She turned to all others in the room. “Out the rest of you! Out! Leave me in peace!”

                They began to leave, save for Daeron whom put a hand on the guard’s shoulder whom was guiding Jeyne to halt him for a moment.

                “Hold on for a moment” he told them. He reached out and gently raised Jeyne’s face by her chin. He studied her eyes with a softened gaze. She looked him in the eyes and solemnly shook her head. The Jeyne he spent time with in the godswood was his Jeyne and not Jeyne Poole. He already knew that but he had to be sure. Though he couldn’t say when Jeyne Poole had replaced her as Jeyne had demanded that he stay away from her until after the wedding. They could’ve carried out their plan that very night after she returned to her tower.

                “Where?” he asked in a low voice but sternly.

                Again, she looked him in the eyes but this time she shook her head twice with defiance.  

                He sighed and stepped away, allowing them to take her away.

                All others had left the room save for himself, the queen and his bloodriders. He turned and gave them the gesture to leave with his eyes.

                “Leave us, blood of my blood. Have your fill in the Hall or hunt if you wish.”

                They were all too glad to oblige.

“I’ll go take my woman” declared Rakharo with a growl as they stalked off.

Daeron then went over to the queen, who fell to her knees again and kept her eyes to the floor.

                “Sansa” he said before her.

                “How could she do this to me?” Sansa uttered without looking at him. “I’m saving us. I’m doing all I can to hold us together but she won’t have it. She always does this.”

                Daeron reached down for her. “Come now, queen. Get away from the fire.”

                He gently took her by the arms and rose her up. Her body moved with him but she was mostly oblivious.

                “I know I’m not a war commander or some great strategist but I’m doing the best that I can.”

                He gently took her head in both his hands. “I _know_. I know that you are. We all do. I know very well that it is hard being the one responsible for it all. You’re doing very well considering the Stranger itself is near.”

                He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest as he rubbed her head. She inhaled and wrapped her arms around him as well.

                “Could she have gone to the Wall?”

                She inhaled and snorted. “Of course she went to the Wall.”

                “I’ll take Visenyx and fly for it. I’ll beat any horse there. If she’s with the Watch, I’ll bring her back. I promise.”

                He could feel her nod her head against him. “Thank you.”

                He backed away and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll leave now. Wish me well, my Queen.” He touched her shoulder and began leaving.

                “Daeron” she called his name before he reached the door. He turned back. “It isn’t real.”

                He gave her a puzzled look.

                “It’s as real as the glamor. The North. Dragonstone. The Seven Kingdoms unified between you and me. Stark and Targaryen. _That_ is real.”

                “Sansa …”

                “Don’t make me say it” she almost pleaded with him though it didn’t sound like begging. Her eyes said it all though. “You must choose … never mind … It won’t matter in the end, anyway. I can’t even account for her …”

                He solemnly turned and took his leave.

               

                The king set out from Winterfell with the fastest horse from the stable, which he paid for and rode hard towards the dragon’s nest. Visenyx and Rhaellys had made a place for themselves in a wolfswood cave between Winterfell and Deepwood Motte. Daeron to his disappointment hadn’t had as much opportunity to visit them as often as he would have liked. The cave was embedded among an icy rock cliff after a small but steep climb. He tied his horse to a tree at the bottom and made the climb. Rocks and heavy, thorny branches had been laid at the entrance of the cave mouth. It was obviously to keep intruders out. He struck the lantern he brought with him alight and carefully ventured inside.

                The interior was heavy in dust and ash; it carried the deep taste of sulfur and the climate of ever present flame. As he walked deeper within, he could hear their rumbling. He stepped on a few carcass remains and knew that he was near. Visenyx’s golden eyes were above him before he realized he was on them. He raised his light up to her horned head as she snorted down at him. He reached out and patted her snout.

                “I need you, girl” he told her in High Valyrian. “Where’s your sister?”

                She let out a throaty rumble and turned her head around. He moved beneath her lengthened neck; he noticed the heat rising as he went beyond her. A large dark mound stood above him; only when it uncoiled did he realize that it was actually dark Rhaellys that was unfurling and not some part of the cave. Her long tail came out around lazily and nearly knocked him right off of his feet. She turned towards him and gave him a series of deep, hacking calls that might have been mistaken for coughs by some. Daeron stood up and rose his lantern up to her muddy bronze-colored eyes.

                “You too, Rhaellys. I need …” She turned and crawled back to her previous spot as he spoke and he saw a rounded mass of objects in the dark. He put the light towards them and went in close. He fell silent.

                They had amassed bundles of sticks and charred pieces off wooded plants and rocks. Within this though, were a clutch of eight hot, moist eggs of various colors and hues. He fell to his knees in astonishment. One of the two had changed. He never knew. He eased close to them and watched how Rhaellys cradled them with her body and neck. They were nearly the same size as the eggs Rhaellys, Visenyx and Doreon birthed from only there was no mistaking these for stones. They seemed to carry the sheen of amniotic fluid and were semi-transparent under concentrated light; he could see blood vessels within the hard shell when he put the lantern over them. He reached out and palmed one. It gave a soft red glow at his initial touch and he could feel a strong, rhythmic pulse from inside. Rhaellys leaned over and gently nudged his arm away with her snout before she reared back and blew a heated cloud of heat over them. She re-coiled her body tightly around them, keeping them heated and blocking him and all else out; it was something a loving mother would do.

                “I never knew. I named you for my mother but how could I have known? Protect your young like I know you can. I’m proud of you, Rhaellys.”

                He turned to Visenyx, whom watched him with piqued interest.

                “And I named _you_ for both my sister” he said to her or _him_ , “and Aegon the Conqueror’s fierce queen of war. Their fury. I need it now.”

 

               

 

 

                At Castle Black, Lord Commander Eddison Tollett was performing his inspections of the arms, the security of the gate and all other needed utilities when he and his group were stopped by a frantic brother.

                “Lord Commander! Lord Commander!” A ranger named Elron shouted out as he rushed out towards Edd’s group.

                “What is it this time?” Edd wondered. He noticed the ruckus this ranger was rousing near the tunnels and could hear their commotion from the other side of the stronghold.

                “Lord Commander!”

                “Yes, that’s my position! Out with it, man!”

                “The dead army! They’re on the move!”

                Edd looked back at Tormund and Satin. Tormund gave a simple shrug. He turned back and looked past him. “What are you saying? The Wall still stands. Are they _leaving_?”

                “No, Lord Commander!” He turned and looked about for a moment confusing Edd and Tormund. He then pointed outwards past the gates to the general left direction of them. “They are marching in that direction!”

                Edd shook his head. “Horrible presentation. So, you’re saying they’re moving that way … that’s east? Towards eastwatch?” He looked back to Tormund.

                “Well, there’s no sense in it to me but then I still have hot blood in me.” The old Free Folk scratched his thick bearded chin. “Who knows what these corpses will do?”

                Edd looked back to Elron. “You aren’t pulling something are you? Just trying to get out of watch duty?”

                “No, Lord Commander! You can ask anybody on the Wall! They all see them! There’s so many of them! It’s still happening!”

                Edd turned and stepped away from them to think. “Shit! Is this it? Is it really happening? Well, at least they haven’t breached the Wall. We can prepare and send rangers …”

                They all heard loud screeches high in the distance.

                He shouted up to the watchers on the gate. “What in the Seven Heavens is that?”

                They kept their attention skyward before one called down to them. “Something is flying this way! It’s big!” Another screech came followed by more scrambling among them. “Seven Hells! It’s a dragon!”

                “Dragon?” Tormund asked.

                Edd swallowed and ran his gloved hand through his hair. “This is just what I need. The dead are doing things to annoy me and now a dragon is here. It’s … King Daeron Targaryen. Jeyne and Sam’s written us about him. He’s been conquering most of the Seven Kingdoms in recent times and he has dragons.”

                “And he’s here.” Satin stated.

                They saw the large pale and golden dragon swoop down and hover above the gate with strong flaps of its wings. It’s long, spiny tail casually swung and swiped down, striking the gate hard enough to break off a wooden battlement and send it crashing to the snow. The guards on the Wall panicked and scattered away from its reach. The men down below were no better. There was a lot of shouting and some ran for bows and spears.

                Edd, Tormund and Satin watched it stunned and in awe.

                “Gods, that is one beautiful creature” Tormund remarked.

                “Slim chance that you’ll get to fuck _that_ ” commented Edd.

                Daeron watched the Night’s Watch forming up in defense lines below him but was unaffected at the sight of it. Nothing they had could do would harm Visenyx’s underbelly or throat let alone any other part of her. He had Visenyx lower herself and perch atop the gate where she knocked even more stone and wooden trappings to the ground.

                A man whom was still atop the gate and not far from the newly perched dragon watched the spectacle in fearful silence. Visenyx tiptoed her claws atop the relatively slim structure and raised her neck to fire a long stream of flame in the open air. This served to create more apprehension and panic down below. Even if the man seemed beneath the notice of both the king and his dragon, he fell to his knees immediately and hoped beyond hope that it was true. He began to sob.

                “You there --!” Daeron shouted down at that man.

                “O’ dragon king! Mercy! I beg you! Mercy!”

                “Be silent! I have come for Jeyne Stark! Bring her to me and I will gladly leave!”

                “Mercy, Dragon king! Mercy!”

                “Ugh! Enough of you!”

                He pressed Visenyx to lean her upper body lower down the gate so he could get closer to the crowd below; a lesser man might be discouraged by a downward slope. Not he, who believed himself to be greater than any man.

                “I am King Daeron Targaryen, the Third of My Name! Who holds command of the Wall?!”

                The men surrounding Eddison Tollett all looked inwards on him awkwardly. He gave a few disapproving looks.

                “Well, thanks for that you bastards.” He gathered himself and stepped forward out a ways. “Your Grace, King Daeron! My name be Eddison Tollett, a humble man but made Lord Commander of this place!”

                “Lord Commander! I am coming down! It would be in yours and your men’s best interest not to do anything rash!”

                Edd looked back at his people and signaled them to lower their bows, which they slowly did on the command of their serjeants. “Oh, we may not always be the smartest bunch but we know we’d do better to antagonize dead folk than dragons.”  

                One could excuse the Lord Commander for thinking the king would step down from his dragon; every man who witnessed it had expected it as well. But Daeron did not step down. Visenyx leapt from the gate and made her own place in the snow before them. She slinked around and took in the sight of the men and their shabby towers. A few screeches and reptilian rumbles could be heard from her throat.

                “No monster should move like that” a brother commented.

                Visenyx lowered herself and stared down at the Lord Commander and his men. They all could feel her heated breath on them but those within an even closer radius of her felt the smothering wave of heat even through the harsh winter cold. They would have tried to get closer if they weren’t so afraid. In fact, most backed away.

                “I’ll make it plain, Lord Commander!” Daeron said to him from Visenyx’s back. “I’ve come for Jeyne Stark, or Jeyne Snow as she was born. She was to be married today and we believe she has fled. We know that she has a long history here. Bring her to me and I will leave with no issue.”

                “My apologies, Your Grace” Edd said with reluctance. “Do you believe that she’s here? I assure you that she is not.”

                “You wouldn’t lie to your king, would you?”

                “I promise you, that I would not. Those are problems that I do not want. Jeyne is not here and I haven’t seen her since the mission at Eastwatch!”

                Tormund patted Edd on the shoulder and stepped forward. Edd tried to pull him back but Tormund yanked away.

                “Well, y’ strike a grand painting” Tormund commented. “If I was as feeble as these like, I might just kneel to you too. But I not be.”

                “Who are you?” the king wondered.

                “Me?” Tormund pulled absently on his massive white beard. “Why I’m Tormund Giantsbane, the Tall-talker, Horn-blower and Breaker of Ice, Tormund Thunderfist, Husband to Bears –“

                “Husband … to Bears …?”

                “I’m not done!” Tormund said. “I never gave the sign that I was done, did I? You kneelers are so rude.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, the Husband to Bears! But also the Mead-King of Ruddy Hall, The Speaker of Gods, Father of Hosts, and Ax to the Throat of Cowards! Now, I am done!”

                _He has a lot of names_ , Daeron thought. He gave an agitated look to the Lord Commander who could only shrug apologetically in return.

                “Tormund … Giantsbane … is it?” he asked warily.

                “Aye, king. Ye do seem less of a boor than the last king. Though just because of that creature. Can I?” He raised a gesturing hand.

                “Can you … _what_?”

                “Can I _touch_ him?”

                “I wouldn’t advise it.”

                “You kneelers are so stingy with your things.”

                “Enough of this! Where is Jeyne Stark?!”

                “Ah, my old friend. How is the lass holding up?”

                “You mean to pretend that she isn’t here?”

                Tormund gave him an odd look.

                Edd stepped in. “Your Grace. Jeyne is indeed forever a friend to the Watch but whatever issues arises beyond the New Gift do not concern us. We are the first defense. Jeyne is involved in royal matters now and if she did appear to us without a raven sent, we would question if something was wrong. She never has.” 

                Daeron inhaled and looked out over the towers, halls, shacks and winches. “I can return in force to search every nook of this place or I can tear it to pieces now” Visenyx gave an agitated stomp to punctuate her father’s rising impatience. “So you’d better not be lying to me. That would prove unwise.”

                “Now, you listen here, _king_ ” Tormund shouted up to him.

                “Tormund, don’t” Edd moved over to stop him but Tormund shrugged him off again and continued.

                “We have enough at stake against the dead. We don’t need no fancy king waving his royal member around, threatening to torch us. We’re trying to save _your_ skin and that beautiful creature’s skin, too. Jeyne is an old friend of mine. I surely know her better than you. If she _were_ here, by the gods I wouldn’t give her to you. But I would tell that right to you, man to man. Now, king over us if you wish but don’t keep us from protecting the lands from those things.”

                Edd was stunned and only hoped that Daeron wouldn’t respond by actually scorching the old fool. “Forgive him, Your Grace, he is a fool that knows not what he says. He may actually be senile.”

                Daeron glared at Tormund a bit longer but went on. “If she didn’t come here, then where?”

                “When did she leave?” Tormund asked him.

                “…Three days ago.”

                Tormund scratched his great beard. “That’s time enough about.”

                “Do you know something?”

                “King, our girl Jeyne may be too wild for your wedding but she ain’t running south, not with the Wall breaking down all the more. There are other places to slip past besides this place. She may very well be in the true north now.”

                “What?! Why?”

                Tormund shrugged. “She’s done it before. That girl loses it from time to time. She truly believes she will be the one to end the Long Night. She used to say it all the time. ‘The wights and the Others have touched me and I didn’t burn. They don’t harm me’…”

                “Clear the space!” Daeron commanded them. “Move!”

                He spoke to Visenyx and guided her upwards.

                “What?” Edd and others shouted as Visenyx began rising in the air with a few flaps of its wings.

                They scrambled away as Visenyx carelessly smashed the roof of the forge in the attempt to get skyward. They watched Visenyx rise higher and higher. She gave long screeches and hovered above their camp in such a way that seemed disturbing and were frightened as she appeared much less graceful than she had been when she arrived. It was rather clumsy in appearance. She seemed like she might crash back to the ground at any moment.

                “Does something about that seem wrong to any of you?” asked Edd to those around him. There was much more chatter behind him amongst the brothers throughout the yard.

                “Visenyx! Steady!” The king shouted along with many more commands in High Valyrian. “What is the matter with you?!” He tried to push to and over the Wall but she fought him the entire way. She continuously reared back and flapped frantically which naturally made his heart jump too many times for his comfort. She bounced and kicked repeatedly at the Wall, knocking away loosened chunks of ice and stone to the ground below.

                “What are you doing?!” Some shouted at them from below.

                For the first time since her birth, the dragon seemed completely and utterly frightened. Daeron couldn’t grasp it.  Visenyx wouldn’t go any higher than four hundred feet up the wall and instead screeched in distress when he tried. She clawed and glided her way horizontally along the Wall, severing the tethers to three of the newly constructed winches, sending their components crashing to the snow to the Watch’s further dismay. Her oddity continued when she let loose a long stream of flame at the Wall at a hovering distance away from it. After ten seconds of this, she turned and flew high and away from the stronghold.

                When all of this was done, most were stunned but a few went straight to work trying to gather up the materials from the downed winches.

                “Fuuuuck!” cried out Eddison as he ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t _need_ this now!”

                “Lord Commander?” one of the officers called out from behind him.

                “Well, some are already at it, aren’t they?” he asked tenuously, referring to the chaos caused by the dragon. “Salvage that and … these fucking folk should know what to do! Shit!”

                “Lord Commander! He’s returned!”

                He turned and saw the dragon descending down towards their stronghold hard and fast. Upon approaching, it eased back and again clung to the gate. Only this time, it lowered itself and Daeron dismounted on the gate’s walkway. With fluidity, he walked straight down the archway past two brothers who moved sideways in awe of him. He found the steps down from there and walked down to the courtyard before all of the others. Visenyx watched the entire fort warily. Her father went to the scattered crowd of the Watch, striking a contrast with their black wear in his white furs. He had read of the North in his youth and of the Watch and the Wall. Being in the midst of it all only enhanced the significance of all that he had done. He walked just before Eddison, the Lord Commander. All watched him, anxious of his next action.

                “Lord Commander, I apologize for the damages to this place. That was not my intention. It appears the cold of the Wall has an adverse effect on Visenyx or perhaps there’s some other explanation that I’m not gathering. Regardless, that doesn’t change my intention. I request that you give me leave past the gate.”

                Edd, Tormund and others exchange various looks of bemusement.

                “Your Grace, we can’t do that.” He told him.

                “Can’t or won’t.”

                “Both. The dead are at our doorstep. If they want to get past they will have to make their own way. We’re certainly not going to give it to them.”

                Daeron removed Blackfyre from his back with no further hesitation. He held it straight out above his head and then brought it down it to a level point aimed at Edd’s chest. Every present watchman who had one unsheathed their weapons in response. Tormund even unstrung his long ax from his back and took up that.

                “I’ve never had king’s blood on my steel.” Tormund said. “They’ll make a song for me, I hope.”

                Still, Daeron was undeterred. “This is a blade of Valyrian steel! It will destroy them! Let me past!”

                A random brother spoke up. “As pretty as that blade is, Valyrian steel kills the Others but it’s still just waving a stick at the wights. It don’t kill _those_.”

                Edd raised a calming hand. “Your Grace, please _think_. These are honest men here. Some of them _boys_. Your dragon doesn’t want to go past. If you do want to go past, you will have to kill us. Look around you. There are over two hundred of us here. Are you truly prepared to do that? King? Whose duty it is to protect his people?”

                Daeron joined his other hand to the sword’s long hilt and held it in a combative stance. “Send some men with me or open the gate to let me past.”

                Edd denied him. “No.”

                “I have to take her back!” Against his wishes, his voice showed strain and wavered at the mention of her. “I have to save her …” Behind him, Visenyx roared and began climbing over the gate for her father.

                “She’s not just Lady Jeyne to you” Edd asked him. “Is she?”

                Daeron didn’t answer. Nobody did or said anything save for Visenyx whom approached the crowd skittishly.

                In the midst of them, those near the gate heard frantic banging at the front gate.

                “Breach! Breach! Breach! Breach!” came the voices from the other side. Two of them heard this and sprang into action. They ran up the gate steps to the top to see what the commotion was.

                Three brothers and two Free Folk on horseback were below in various states of distress while another had been throwing all of his strength into getting the Watch’s attention with a large wooden beam left on the ground for that very purpose.

                “What’s the meaning of this?” one of them shouted down.

                “The Wall has collapsed! There is a breach! The dead are marching through!”

                The gatesman looked back before responding. “What do you say? The Wall is fine!”

                “Not here, you idiot! To the East! Between here and Eastwatch! They shot down our ravens so we couldn’t send word and we’ve lost most of our men already! We must hurry to cut them off! Let us in to see the Lord Commander! We must send ravens to the other forts!”

                One of the gatesman gave a look to the other, who nodded sternly. He went to the horn.

                Everybody in the fort took notice when the gate’s horn blew three long, consecutive blows.

                Daeron lowered his blade and turned around, curious and distracted.

                The gate rose and the men rode through shouting for the Lord Commander. They stopped cold and some of the horses reared back violently at the sight of a dragon in the middle of the courtyard. Visenyx turned aggressively towards them and did nothing to alleviate their fears.

                Edd slowly but surely walked around the beast while providing a wide berth. To his relief, Visenyx showed him no further hostility.

                “What news do you bring?” he asked them.

                Their focus was on the dragon. “Uhhh, Lord? Dragon?”

                “Please. One thing at a time.” He put up three gloved fingers.  “Three horn blows?”

                “Yes, Lord Commander. The Wall has collapsed between this fort and Eastwatch. Men have died and all of our ravens were slaughtered. It’s closer to Eastwatch and we would have gone there but we were cut off.”

                Edd rubbed his chin. “That would explain why they’re moving east.”

                The men went on. “We need to march south and send ravens to warn the realm. We know that they won’t stop until we get ahead of them.”

                Edd nodded solemnly. “It’s time.”

                Satin, Tormund, King Daeron and others approached.

                “What’s the meaning of this?” the king asked.

                “Pardon me, Your Grace, but its Watch business.” He turned to Satin. “Gather the stewards. I want wagons loaded with two dozen pitch barrels and the horses saddled to pull them.”  He looked to the smith. “I know your forge is a mess now but we need to arm and armor these men. The night has come. Get to it.”

                 “The Wall has fallen?” Daeron asked.

                Edd ignored him and turned to his gathered men.

                Some of them were eager. Some of them were confused. Others were scared for their very lives and not because of the dragon.  

                “Lord Commander?” Satin said to Edd quizzically.

                Edd rubbed his mane. “Fucking hells.” He sighed and addressed them. “This is it. According to these men, the dead are south of the Wall. I’m no orator. We are no knights or lords. If you need me to inspire you, then you’re fucked and I don’t want you with me. We are the shield and the first line of defense. Those dead bastards are going to turn everything I used to love to shit and I intend to stop them! That’s it!”

                “We’re with you, Lord Commander!”

                “We’ll kill the bastards!”

                Edd fell back on his coping mechanism. “Well, they’re already dead … soooo … I believe ‘destroy’ would be a better word for it. Semantics.”

                There was a bit of scattered laughter at that.

Edd began shouting orders then. “Ten horses will stay with thirty men to watch this place! I’ll leave it to my officers to decide! Letters must be writ and sent to all other Watch footholds, Winterfell and all other kingdoms and the Citadel! All other men, arm and armor yourselves! We will form up here and once done, we will intercept those dead bastards! The time has come! To dawn!” He unsheathed and raised his sword. “For the Watch!”

                Many others either raised their own swords or their fists. They echoed his cry multiple times. “For the Watch! For the Watch!”

                Edd then resheathed his sword and pulled the rangers that had come to tell them of the dead aside. He spoke to him privately. “I’m sending five others with you. I need you to track their movements. Do not engage them but give me their direction of movement and just what in the hells they’re doing …” They continued speaking as they walked away from Daeron and Tormund.

                Tormund looked at the stunned king and snorted. “So what will you do, king? Continue to fight against us breathing, hot-blooded folk? Or do your obligation against the true enemy?”

                Daeron didn’t answer and seemed to look down at his boots for the answer. Tormund shoved him in the shoulder, which made him stumble back a few steps, before he himself turned and joined the others in preparation. After some thought, Daeron returned to Visenyx.

                They turned to see Visenyx taking to the air and expanding her wings to stay above their heads. “Lord Commander!” he shouted down.

                Edd turned from what he was doing to see to him.

                “A dragon is swifter than a horse!”

                Edd walked beneath the dragon’s shadow. “Your Grace?”

                “Those under my rule! I will see them safe! Keep your men at your side! Prepare them to march south! I will take a look at this army of the dead and rally any force I find! I will bring you word of their actions myself! You will have my fire!”

                “And what of Lady Jeyne?”

                Daeron squeezed his eyes shut. ‘ _I love it as I do you, but the North comes first.’ That is what she said. She would want this. But, no, this isn’t just for her. This is just right._ “Perhaps I’ll find her in the midst of this hell. Get to work, Lord Commander! Time seems to be against us now!” 

                With that, he and Visenyx soared high and turned towards Eastwatch in view of the Wall.

 

                “We’re here, Ghost.” She slipped to her knees in the snow beside her. “At last …”

                It had been a hard trip; they had lost the horse on the second night. And the elements had worn on them; they lodged in abandoned villages along the way and even with the fires and Ghost close for warmth and comfort, her sleep was miserable. Their provisions didn’t last but Ghost led her to water and brought her meat. She wouldn’t have survived otherwise and was ever grateful for her.

                She looked up at the half-built fort and the icy steps leading up the Wall beyond that. It was the only place on the Wall to have such a thing though there was no way of knowing if one could step down to the other side. She supposed not, otherwise the Free Folk would have used it long ago. The Nightfort had been abandoned for some two hundred years, yet when Stannis Baratheon had come to inspire confidence from the Watch in his bid for the throne, he had named the dreaded Nightfort as his intended seat. The Watch, ever eager to have him out of their hair, happily obliged. Repairs had just begun when the Battle for Winterfell took form and Stannis never did occupy the fort. Even still, the Watch continued work in repairs and kept a small force at the fort to that day. This was evident as she could hear and see nickering horses among the buildings. It was lightly garrisoned as she knew but they seemed to be preoccupied with other things. Ghost pushed her forward with her heavy snout and almost knocked her over. She could feel the rumbling in the direwolf’s throat, egging her on.

                “I know” she said, using her left arm to brace herself against a tree to stand. “We’re close.”

               

                She deliberately avoided the sounds of gathering men and their horses and instead ventured around the halls and small homes they seemed to be leaving behind. As she neared the rear of one and turned a corner, a horse was reined forcefully just before her narrowly avoiding running her down it seemed. It neighed in distress as the rider tried to calm it. One of her hands fell to her stomach while her heart dropped.

                “What is this?!” The rider in black called down to her. “ _You_? What are you doing here?”

                She said nothing and Ghost hunched down in an aggressive stance. She bared her fangs in a silent snarl.

                “Now, just hold on.”

                Jeyne turned and continued walking past the hall adjacent to him. “Come, Ghost.” Ghost reluctantly followed.

                “Wait!” The rider called after her. “Come back here! It isn’t safe!” He had to steady the horse because the direwolf had scared it so badly. She ignored him and when she had gone, he didn’t follow her but instead rode on to reunite with his fellow brothers.

                The newly established halls and sheds almost resembled a township to her but then the ruinous stone and the emptiness reminded her of the fort’s dreary reputation.

                “Can you lead the way?” she said to her four-legged companion. “Because I’m now lost.” 

                For a moment, the wind picked up and she had to shield her face in her hood but when it died down again, she could hear somebody else before her. She stopped to listen; it sounded like choked sobs from either a child or a woman.

                “What is that?” she wondered aloud but Ghost ventured ahead, sniffing at the snow. “Wait.”

                She followed Ghost to a spot before a mostly crumbled tower with its ruined components laying all about and within. She saw the source of the sobbing leaning against one of the dilapidated walls. A girl was there, faced away from them. She had long, dark blonde hair and wore a medium-length black cloak and the light armor of a watchman. Her trousers were mostly torn off of her body especially her left leg which bared her ghostly pale skin. Long trickles of blood wrapped that leg and occasionally dripped to the snow beneath her. She had an empty sheath on her hip.

                Jeyne and Ghost watched her silently for a moment as her sobs would surge in intensity before wavering out a second later.

                “Hello?” Jeyne called out to her. At the sound of her voice, the girl stopped sobbing and raised her head. She seemed alert and listening for another call but she never turned back towards the pair.

                Jeyne froze, somewhat alarmed herself at the girl’s odd behavior. “Hello, there” she called out again. “Are you well? Did the men hurt you? You can come with me if you … wait!”

                The girl turned and walked away behind the wall. Jeyne could only catch a glimpse of the side of her face.

                “Wait!” She gave chase.

               

                The rider met up with Othell Yarwyck, the First Builder and garrison commander at the Nightfort, and his men.

                “Are you about done? We’re late.” Their intention was to ride south ahead of the breaching dead and meet the Lord Commander’s force. A raven had come to them, relaying the situation.

                “Lord, there’s a problem.”

                “Well, what is it?”

                “Jeyne Snow and that direwolf of hers are here. I called for them to follow but she ignored me.”

 

                Jeyne and Ghost searched for her but stopped when they heard frantic, hard stomps on the stone ceiling directly above their heads. She turned the corner and hurried up the stone stairway, pausing for a moment as she was feeling particularly queasy that day. There were only two walls on that floor and the two made it in time to see the girl’s fingers hanging from the ledge back to the ground floor. When she moved forward, the fingers disappeared. She went out towards the open wall and watched as the girl scurried across the snowy yard, falling once along the way. She seemed hurt, evidenced by a limp and the blood that trailed her along the way.

                “Wait!” Jeyne screamed after her again. “I won’t hurt you! I just want to help!”

                The girl pulled open a door and went inside. The rounded building was made from aging stone and had a gnarled, pale tree growing through a wide fissure in the roof.

                Jeyne turned back towards the stairs. “Ghost!”

                She simply followed the blood trail across the yard to the dome-shaped, angled building with the half-opened door. She heard distant neighing and muffled steps in the snow behind her so she quickened her pace. She pulled open the heavy door and allowed entrance for herself and Ghost before closing it behind them. She didn’t wish to be interrupted and she was more than sure that they would.

                She turned and looked around the room. There was no blood or any other sign of the girl but there was indeed the tree growing right through the floor at the rear of the room; its trunk was pale and seemed to have no end to it; curiously only little snow had invaded the cracked roof around its protruding branches. Rusted pots, pans and washing bins were littered all over the floor alongside a mostly torn down brick oven. Laddles, spoons and other large utensils were strewn occasionally throughout the room as well clueing Jeyne in to the place’s use as an old kitchen but it likely hadn’t seen any use when the Stannis and the Watch re-occupied the place. There was a hearth but wood would have to be gathered as well something to ignite for it to be usuable. What really drew her was the large well centered before the tree. When she approached it, she realized that there were spiraling steps in its mouth that went right down beneath the fort and the earth itself, too much of it shrouded in darkness for her liking.

                There was breathing down in the depths and scraping stone that she couldn’t see. Then she heard an echoed gasp in the dark and she figured it was the girl.

                “’Ay!” She shouted down. “I hear you! Please answer me!”

                All of it carried a ringing echo that somewhat bothered her and made her heart race. There was no answer but she could still hear the friction of scraping stone. She looked back at Ghost.

                “We have no light.”

                She felt a want, no a need, to climb down the well but she was afraid. She couldn’t see. If she were to slip off of the side or if some of the steps were as damaged as the rest of the fort, how far would she fall? Would she feel it when her body broke?

                There were voices outside. Some were muffled but others sounded as if they could be right outside their door. Jeyne crawled across the floor and peaked out of one of the windows. The Watch had returned on their horses and some men dismounted to check various buildings.  They were searching for her and made it plain by shouting her name. She had an urge to go to them. She would go back to Winterfell and marry Robert Arryn. She was tired of the struggle. She would gladly give in for some peace away from the confusion.

                She looked back at Ghost, panicked. “What am I supposed to do? Nobody will tell me! What should I do?”

                The direwolf padded across the floor to her and pushed her large head between her human’s arms and rubbed against her chest and belly. Surprised, Jeyne rubbed her ears but Ghost shifted and carefully snagged Jeyne’s left sleeve in her teeth. She walked backwards towards the well and Jeyne was forced to follow or she would have her arm dislocated. When they reached it, Ghost turned and leaned back into Jeyne, her hand specifically. Jeyne gripped her fur, slowly beginning to understand. Ghost lifted her paws and climbed over the side then Jeyne lifted her legs and followed down after her. Vertigo gripped her body and her heart stopped momentarily as the sense of empty space, declining heights and cold hard surface clouded her mind. Still, Ghost’s presence before and on her comforted her; she had no sign of their progress but Ghost absolutely did. The space was cramped at the entrance and she spent the first dozen or so steps on her hands and knees. Besides Ghost, she always felt for the wall as she knew that could prove her savior as well and would lean into it as long as she could.

                She remembered the first steps or so and how they spiraled; she certainly felt that as the two of them circled down and down. She felt like it was an abyss she would never see the end of; the farther down they went, the thicker the air became, the colder it became and the harder the stone felt on her.

                When it became too deep below the earth for her she found it hard to breathe and drew a few gasping breaths before settling into a slower method. Still her vision, as dark as it was, became clouded and her limbs grew heavy. There was a distant wet feel to her skin and a dampness beneath her clothes as she developed a cold sweat. She could feel herself growing weak and she wanted to fight on; she wanted to be strong but her body had its reaction and she could feel herself falling. The hard surface made her grunt when her shoulder bounced off of it. She tumbled and suddenly a sharp chill shoot through her entire body and her mind was active again. The odd feeling returned as she could feel her legs dangling down over empty space. There was a dull pain in her back and chest; Ghost caught her in her jaws when she fell over ledge but her sharp teeth went over her right shoulder and punctured her behind the shoulder blade and her right breast in the front. After a while, she could feel small tearing of her flesh and every one of the teeth inside her; while she knew Ghost was helping, she was in a good deal of pain. A slender arm wrapped itself with her left and the two of them worked together to haul her up. She settled down on the wall next to her mysterious rescuer while Ghost licked her teeth of Jeyne’s blood.

                She could feel the gown under her dress and furs dampening, how she must’ve been bleeding through it. She had a hard time breathing but her rescuer didn’t, breathing long steady breaths beside her. Jeyne put a hand on the near shoulder and felt her gloved fingers roll through soft bundles of long, perfectly straight hair.

                “It’s you … isn’t … it?” Jeyne grunted. “The one … from the song?”

                “Don’t speak” she told her. “You’re so close. Don’t spoil it.” Her voice was husky and though distantly feminine, much deeper than Jeyne’s was normally.  

                She felt her move away and continue down the stairwell.

                “Wait!” Jeyne croaked after her to no avail.

                She heard the scraping of her receding descent and then Ghost climbed over her. She waited for Jeyne to grab onto her to continue. When they seemed to turn another round corner, she could see it. Pale and glowing, it made everything else seem so much darker. It was a bright heart tree with an elderly, curmudgeon face. It seemed so far away at first but as she and Ghost made their labored crawl it grew closer and closer.

                She stumbled over the last step onto the damp cave floor. She stirred sorely on the ground and clutched at her belly and stinging right breast. She kept her mouth shut tight to keep the whimpers in her throat. Ghost came to her and forced her head underneath her to raise her up. The pale tree was indeed closer but still seemed so far. She leaned onto Ghost and the two stumbled closer and closer to the dim radiance. At last, the two settled before the tree. Jeyne swayed on her knees and the girl was nowhere to be seen.

                Before she could think to expect anything at all, the tree spoke to her.

                Who are you? It asked of her in a dusty tone, which echoed throughout the well as well, making it a demand by accident.

                _This isn’t right_ , she realized. _Am I such a fool? I know the tales of this place. Of the door that is for those of the Watch. I am no watchman so what am I doing here?_

                “Where is that girl? She was just here?” Jeyne asked.

                Its eyes were white but dimmer than its glowing trunk which stretched up and up into the darkness. It was the very same tree that pushed through the kitchen and the roof she realized. _How old is this tree?_

She is not of your concern, it said to her. Though its mouth opened, they made no motion to speak. The voice passed through to her from somewhere within. Whoooo are yooooou?

                “I _… am_ concerned, though. Just tell me, please.”

                She is looost. A spirit. Who are yooou?

                “A ghost?”

                Yes.

                Jeyne lowered her head, fighting back tears but also struggling against fainting again. She had come so far. “I know I can’t pass, but _please_! I know … I’m not a member of the Watch! But I was told to come here! That it was the only way to save everyone!”

                A brief pause. Your name will suffice.

                “Jeyne Stark. My name is Jeyne Stark.”

                That is not your name.

                “What? But it is!”

                It is not. Tell us your name.

                “It is! I’m Jeyne Stark!”

                You know it isn’t truuue.

                “What --? I … have to … no. I have to go back … to _that_?”

                Your naaame.

                Ghost rubbed herself into her arm in an attempt to comfort her but she didn’t notice. The Watch could’ve walked right in and taken her away and she wouldn’t have noticed.

                “Snow. My name … is … Jeyne Snow.”

                That will suffice. Inwards, Snow.

                There was a low rumbling in the earth and before her, the mouth drooped open with the sound of cracking wood so tall that she could have entered seated on Daeron’s shoulders. Gripping onto Ghost again, she entered half walking and half-crawling. A hovering torch struck itself alight and she heard sloshing, heavy footsteps approaching them.

                “You’ve come” A familiar voice said to her and it helped her to her feet.

                “I can hardly breathe” she gasped. “The air …”

                “Air is not so abundant so deep underground but it’s there. Settle yourself. You’ll be fine.” It gave her the waterskin from its belt.

                “Thank you” she took a deep gulp for she had a great thirst. She gasped and put a hand on her stomach. There was still a bit of fuzziness in her head but it was fading. “This isn’t good. I’m with …”

                “Child. I know.”

                “Hmph. It’s early, still. I … can’t imagine it. Me … a mother?”

                It was indeed still in the early months but beneath the furs and the skirts, she had developed a small swell. If Daeron had taken her somewhere and stripped her of her clothes that time, he would’ve noticed. His child was growing inside of her.

                “Come” it said to her. “They’re all waiting for you.”

                “They?”

                It didn’t answer. It simply turned and the fire retreated from them. Jeyne grabbed Ghost’s fur again and the two of them followed.

So as it was, King Daeron the Third of his name and the Night’s Watch prepared for the first true battle of the Second Long Night while Jeyne Snow passed under the Wall for her own part in the war. She did so knowing that she may never see him or anything else that she loved again. For if she ever did return, she wouldn’t be the same. And while other things drew his attention, he would always be waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider this an open ending, not a cliffhanger. I do believe there is a difference. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and I plan on continuing and starting other works in the future.


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